


Use Your Hands and My Spare Time

by ADevilsHunger (Dream_tempo)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Scott, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Body Hair, Body Worship, Breeding, Casual Sex, Dirty Talk, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Frottage, Fuckbuddies, Happy Ending, Knotting, Knotting Dildos, Locker Room, M/M, Male Lactation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Misunderstandings, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Oral Sex, Reverse Knotting, Rimming, Self-Lubrication, Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:38:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 49,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_tempo/pseuds/ADevilsHunger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A smutty high school AU wherein hormones dictate society, Derek and Stiles are misunderstanding asses, Scott repeatedly meanders into bone city, Liam just wants to be barefoot and pregnant, Jackson can't see past the tip of his own dick to the love that's right in front of him, and Isaac doesn't have time for any of them. </p>
<p>Aka, my treatise on emotional and physical intimacy between teenage boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jackson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wolvarz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolvarz/gifts).



> So, this accidentally turned into my NaNoWriMo project and became a hulking behemoth that I never could have anticipated. :P My bad. 
> 
> Anyways! This is for the lovely poseysbutt over on tumblr who asked for some High School AU for Christmas with some Sterek, Scerek, or Sciles. Unfortunately, they got this smorgasbord of manparts that takes forever to disentangle. 
> 
> Before I let you get to the fic, I just want to say thanks SO much to my most awesome friend and writing buddy who got me through this and cheered me on through this month and gave me notes on every single chapter as I wrote it. Without her, I wouldn't have been able to do it! You know who you are my dear!
> 
> Inspired by a throwaway prompt from stickykeys633, also over on tumblr.

It starts, like many things do in Jackson's life, with an insecurity. Not that that is something he would ever admit aloud, but that's what it is all the same. Being confirmed a beta during his Examination is like the culmination of all his greatest fears. Maybe you think that a fourteen year old boy can't have true, deep, ingrained fears-- but _he_ did, and he is forced to confront them face-to-face.

Because being told that he is a beta is like being told that he is ordinary, that he is boring, that he has nothing to offer this world and should slink back into the obscurity his parents inadvertently taunt him for. He wouldn't be the strong, virile, big-dicked alpha like his dad-- nor would he be the delightedly rare, infinitely treasurable male omega that he secretly yearned for.

He is just Jackson Whittemore and that doesn't seem like a whole hell of a lot. Blonde hair, blue eyes, freckles-- so what? Boys his age aren't just crowing about being the first to grow pubes anymore. They're popping knots in their sleep and having pseudo heats and some even dripping slick from swampy, sweet cunts that are just starting to ripen and plump. No one gives a damn anymore that he can kiss the head of his own dick-- not now that they can gather around Greenberg and watch as he worms three fingers inside himself with ease.

Of course, he gets sent away the very next day to live in the omega segregation of town and Jackson gets to stay. But how long until Danny gets sent away to live with the alphas? How long until a third of his class gets to move to specialized places to learn about their bodies and get taught control? While they're in seminars about being gentle while breeding your bitch, he'll still be learning geometry and running laps in the back field.

It's middle school, so of course there's stories about it. It's not like he's a perv with an overactive imagination. Everyone's talking about how their brothers and sisters say omegas are allowed to have sex with each other in the middle of class and alphas are given free fleshlights like the mini sticks of deodorant they handed out at the maturation programs. What does Jackson get for being a beta-- for being part of the rational few that deal with their puberty hormones the normal way: keeping a cum-stained sock between his mattresses and sneaking peaks in the locker rooms showers-- instead of having to be kept apart for fear of outbursts of sexual violence and droves of the consequential teen pregnancy.

Maybe it's not normal to be jealous of the boys who have obvious, twitching bulbs behind their zippers half the day, or even more-so of the ones who find damp stains on the seat of their pants or the chest of their shirts, but he is. God, he is. So the only solution is to start tearing them down. What's special about being tied to someone after sex and coming for a half hour straight? What's special about having muscles that can milk a cock, or milk that can feed a full-grown man up to twice a day?

Jackson doesn't need a dog cock or a bitch cunt to be special. He doesn't have to define himself by what he can do in the bed. He's gonna be a top-ranked student, a star athlete, the elected prom king of the beta majority and the segregated minority. Come high school, he's gonna be able to pass between all three sections of the city and doesn't even have to obey curfew. Fuck the alphas and the omegas, he's gonna make a name for himself and he's not gonna have any animalistic help doing it.

* * *

 

  
Once Jackson Whittemore sets his mind to something, he gets it-- come hell or high water-- and his life goals feel so good in his hands, all lined up and fully realized, that he's hard as soon as he wakes up today.

Captain of the lacrosse team? Check.

He smirks as he rolls onto his stomach and grinds his hips against his silk sheets. They're cool and soft and slick beneath him and his stomach flutters against the sensation on his skin. Chuckling softly, he levers himself up onto his forearms, squishes his pillows beneath his chest, and bites at them. His ass clenches as he feels his cock wet, circling it against the bed again and again in slow, unhurried movements.

Highest grades in the class and valedictorian speech already written? Check.

He flips onto his back and throws the blankets off, pouting demurely down at the bob of his cock where it sticks straight forward in the air-- discounting the bend of the last quarter that aims the unflared, symmetrical head at his feet. When he flexes the organ it taps his belly button before dangling back to its original position. He lets it wobble and bounces as he spreads his legs and bites his lips and scratches at the inside of his thighs.

Prom is just over two months away-- right before the heat holiday-- and he's already being asked to design the crown. Check.

When Jackson stands, he heads straight over to his wardrobe and swings the door wide, stepping in front of his reflection in the mirror. His eyebrows furrow as he makes bedroom eyes at himself and growls at the fucking _wolf_ a guy in front of him. He flexes his arms, pecs, abs, glutes-- makes his smooth balls dance. He's got this, _damn_ he's got this.

Without a moment of hesitation, he steps forward far enough to squish his cock flat against the cold glass and grips his fingers tight to the top of the door. With his mouth open in a soft, pleasurable 'o', his hips pressed tight against the smooth surface, and his eyes locked dead on with the ones in his reflection, he starts up the slow grind again.

Getting to where he is today has been surprisingly, wonderfully easy. Rich and beautiful surely afforded him a head start, but the rest he did on his own, and he did with such skill that it can only be called masterful looking back. From the moment he decided that he was gonna be the greatest beta to walk the halls of BHHS, it was simply a matter of deciding what he wanted and then going after it. Everything just seemed to fall in line, because when you're absolutely certain that it's going to work out, then it just does.

His pace only stays leisurely for a few seconds as his heart-rate ticks up and the tendons in his neck start to twitch and his breath starts fogging up the mirror. With his back and freckled ass turned to his open window, Jackson starts to make sharp, punched out little "uh's!" as his hips snap and the cleft of his cockhead starts to slide through his own pre. He presses his forehead to the glass as his nipples tighten and he's breathing so heavy he can smell his own morning breath. Sweat is starting to drip out of his hairline and pebble in the small of his back and his balls are smacking against the hard surface.

At this point, he's really just coasting until the end of the year is done. He can make the decision to go to any college he wants, or not go at all. The frat parties sound fun and he loves the idea of being able to own a whole _campus,_ but on the other hand, his trust fund comes in when he turns eighteen and he can do what the fuck ever he wants with that. He can party anywhere, any time. Why subject himself to grades and schedules again? He could start up a small business. He could become a fashionisto or reality TV star. He could buy a house across town and fuck his way through the plentiful DILF's in the region.

His closet door is starting to shake with the force of his fucking and he's sure if his parents were still home, they could hear his whore-ish, dropped off, "yeah's!" as he gets closer and closer-- his ass clenching tighter and tighter as his dick gets wetter and wetter and he feels his nut about to bust. Letting go of the door with one hand to reach around and swat his own ass hard enough to leave a mark is what makes him close his eyes as he keens and paints his reflection white-- breathing heavy and shuddering as he grunts and pounds every last spurt and aftershock against the tacky surface.

The world is basically his fucking oyster and, in the end, he really didn't need any of those supposed evolutionary advancements to get it all. So even though every alpha sneers down their noses at him and every omega turns theirs up at his propositions, none of it matters, because they're just fucking jealous. He made it. He's the big fucking dog. He has what everyone wants. They may be too proud to want to fuck him right now, but they sure as hell, _all_ want to be him.

When his heart isn't thundering anymore and the back of his thighs are starting to cramp, Jackson finally lets go fully and opens his eyes again. Fuck! He looks good covered in cum. He smirks to himself and blows a kiss before sticking out his tongue lewdly and rubbing his soft cock in the mess he left behind. "Everyone in school is gonna be lining up to fuck your sweet ass and pop that delicious cherry, baby. And prom king gets first pick." He smiles against and presses a kiss to the mirror before sauntering away and to the bathroom to get ready for the day-- though he doesn't know how he could really top that.

* * *

 

Come high school, co-ed is defined differently than boys and girls. The meaning is changed, without warning, to mean desegregated sections of school. For the betas at least. Classes are co-ed with the alphas and extracurriculars are co-ed with the omegas. Never the twain shall meet-- not even for lunches. It's meant so that there's not some sort of culture shock or something once the second Examination takes place after graduation and eighty percent of the segregated minority are deemed fit for reintegration.

Jackson doesn't care what the over-arching societal ramifications of it are-- only that it means he can measure up to both sides and still find himself a cut above. No need for tawdry cock measuring online to try and back an alpha thug down or pissing contests with a smug omega that thinks their hormones could basically make anyone their thrall. He gets to show them daily, and publicly, that they just don't stand a chance.

That Hale dickhead that always outscores him in history exams and that Jackson would like to pin down and lick from head to toe until his knot popped gets to watch as he gets outranked in every other subject-- across the board-- and that Stilinski boypussy that flirts with everything that moves and that Jackson would like to finger until milk squirted out of his puffy tits gets to feel Jackson grind against his swampy ass every time he gets taken down on the lacrosse field.

Really, it's a win-win.

Maybe the other boys don't see it that way, but that's because they're not the ones that ended up on top. Hale calls him an ass face and gives him the shoulder and Stilinski flips him the bird and makes a show of sticking his tongue down his omega-bondmate's throat, but fuck them both! Literally and figuratively. Despite the numerous assurances that he's going to be spending his Heat with Liam, Jackson never stops offering to let Stilinski take a twirl on the Captain's Crosse if he needs it, and never stops letting him feel just how ready his beta body is.

Because that part of the tales from middle school turned out to be almost entirely true. Omegas have _needs_ and _urges_ and Jackson would call the lot of them pathetic slut-bags if that didn't mean that they're allowed to take any consenting boy to what the student populace calls a rut-hut and _use_ him to quench the growing heat in their cunts. They have to be "safe", of course, and get the teacher's permission before bolting to get a good fuck, but if their hormones are raging, some have been known to use the school sanctioned fantasy suites twice in one day and he's desperate to get in on that action.

The only hink in his plan is that Stilinski is entirely unwilling and instead grabs his bondmate whenever he starts leaving puddles in his seats and comes back with swollen, red lips and a dazed fuzz in his eyes. Now, that might be because Jackson has called him every variation of man-cunt instead of his name for the past four years, but he chooses to believe it's just because Stilinski is a prejudiced bitch that thinks he's above beta cock.

Clearly.

It's why he waits around for his teammates to clear out before sneaking over to the omega side of the locker rooms and slinking inside. He stops just past the entryway to listen for any of them that might get their panty-liners in a twist for him being here-- and also to fist his cock because alpha or no, it smells like liquid, putrid sex in here-- and he just wants to bury his face in the first ass that comes his way. He can scent out piss and sweat and slick and (maybe this is just wishful thinking but he doesn't give a damn) breastmilk and it makes his balls draw tight against his body.

He has to close his eyes and breathe slowly through his mouth as he pinches the root of his dick and tries to stay grounded. He's not a damn alpha-- he's not gonna get suspended for going into rut and mounting an omega that doesn't want him-- but damn if he doesn't want to yank down his nylon shorts, push aside his jock, and just strip himself till he paints the tiled floor.

It takes a minute, but once he's under control, he stalks past the urinals and slinks to the rows of lockers and cocks his ears to listen-- hearing nothing but the sound of a single running shower and some off-key humming. It has to be Stilinski. Jackson made him "equipment manager" after the boy purposely teased him and made him cream his pants on the bus to an away game last month. He's always last to leave the field and _has_ to be the last in the locker room.

He can't see with complete clarity through the billows of steam as he rounds the last aisle of metal lockers, but Jackson can pick out long, hairy legs, a fabulous ass and broad shoulders, and that's signal enough for him to strip his uniform and tug on his ballsack as he saunters over to the shower block. The humming turns strained and high as Jackson gets closer and he can't keep himself from making appreciative noises as he sees spindly fingers working a lather over mildly furred and beauty marked cheeks before plunging into the dark crack and working purposely upwards. "Well, shit mangina. You certainly have found the bright side to this punishment, haven't you? I should've pegged you for a jock-sniffer."

Stilinski yelps as he twirls around-- but doesn't remove his fingers-- looking stunned for a moment before outright glaring. "What the _fuck_ Whittemore? No one wanted your saggy ass over on your side, so you had to come creep on omegas with too many hormones to say no?" Jackson's smirk turns into a snarl and he crosses his arms over his chest-- in intimidation, not defensiveness. What would he have to be defensive about? Just because his butt _used_ to be flabby and wrinkle at the back of his thighs. So what? He got a personal trainer and now that shit is tight.

"Please, like I'd want your soppy pussies. If I wanted every fuck to feel like it was someone's sloppy _seventh's_ I'd just go to a rut-hut gangbang. When was the last time you got your holes properly filled anyway? I heard omega-bitches go feral if they don't get enough cock. You trying to fool that sour cunt into thinking you're capable of getting a man?" Jackson bares his teeth in utter pleasure as Stilinski wrenches his fingers free and blushes furiously, balling them into fists. So, this probably could have gone better, but he'll settle for riling the little shit if he can't make him present.

"You're just projecting because even looking like you do and being as popular and talented as you are, you can't get a guy to fuck your fetid hole, even when you beg. You're just jealous because maybe if you had a " _cunt_ " you could trick someone into creaming your rotten insides." Jackson feels his whole body flash hot and break out in a sickly sheen of sweat before the moisture chills and he shivers with it. He swallows heavily as his eyes itch and burn and his hands clench into fists. Even Stiles knows that was too mean for their usual back-and-forth as his eyes blow wide and he licks his lips nervously while stepping forward with outstretched hands. "Woah-- I-- I didn't mean..."

Jackson's just about to turn away and storm out-- not run away, he isn't a coward like that-- when Stilinski finally steps out of the steam and his whole body is put on display. Jackson just blinks his eyes furiously and tunes out the other boy's stuttered half-apologies as he follows the patchy chest hair down to the impressively more substantial happy trail and further to the nest of unkempt pubes where a small, pink cockhead is nestled. Stilinski's balls are visible only because he was taking a hot shower and so they're hanging low in their sack, but they're only as big as golden dollars and seem lost between those voluptuous thighs.

His shock turns into bitter pleasure as he barks out a laugh and turns his proud, thin-lipped grimace into a sneer. "Oh my god! Forget your boypussy, look at that micro-junk! No wonder you finger yourself-- I doubt you could fit that vienna sausage far enough in your hand to jack." Stilinski's whole face crumples in confusion as he freezes in place before looking down at his dick and then back up at Jackson. He makes the round twice more like he actually has to consider how ridiculously malproportioned he is before shaking his head in something akin to wonder.

"Dude... have you never seen a naked omega before? Or even just _went_ to sex-ed? How do you not know that this is standard equipment?" Stilinski hunches his shoulders like he's suddenly shy, but his words don't waver and he honestly sounds... perplexed. Like Jackson just told him the sky is red.

"Quit trying to play me, mansnatch. If you think this little act is gonna keep me from telling everyone you're coming to bat with a D-battery dick, you're outta luck." Jackson tries to keep his shit-eating grin firm on his face, but with the way Stiles is just quirking a brow and snorting at him, it's kinda hard.

"Fine. Tell whoever you want. It's no one's fault but yours if I suddenly have a half-dozen alphas putting through petitions for a heat contract with me. I knew you were into competition, but this seems stupid-- even for you." He just fucking _shrugs_ as he turns back to his shower and dips his face beneath the spray.

Whatever. Little spitfuck is gonna get his come tomorrow. Jackson picks up his uniform on his way out, but just slings the clothes over his shoulder instead of putting them back on when Stilinski takes a look back over his shoulder. He cups his cock and balls and shakes them at him with his tongue hanging out his mouth, "This is what a real man looks like, box-butt. If you had a better personality, you could try them out for yourself." Stilinski rolls his eyes and keeps soaping.

His loss.

* * *

 

By the time Jackson gets home, he is brimming with the need to tell someone. Stilinski has micro-junk and even if it doesn't make him any less hot, it's something that needs to be known. He can't send it through text or post it to any social media-- he needs to be there to bask in the reactions of everyone around him as he gets the final leg up on the other senior boy. But by the time he gets home from practice-- hair cleaned up and pipes cleaned out-- curfew is just around the corner and his parents will be eager for a silent dinner together as a family.

There weren't many mansions out in the neutral territory-- at least not like the ones they had up on the hills in the upper-crust, alpha-exclusive neighborhood they used to live in-- and his father will never live down having to move out here to the boonies, and across from a row of single-level bungalows no less. Jackson doesn't know many of the kids around him, mainly because when he moved in, he had the common sense to denounce them all as beneath him when they came over to introduce themselves. His father was watching and even if he couldn't have changed his biology, he could still make it clear that his breeding was top-notch.

Still, there's the Lahey kid just kiddy-corner from the front steps that likes to watch with intense eyes as Jackson mows the lawn in nothing but his board shorts, and he knows he can get the boy to gossip if he wants. So when he gets out from the shower, he doesn't blow his hair dry or put on underwear beneath his cut-off Calvin Klein sweats, and heads out onto the street. It's just his luck that Isaac is pulling up on an old ten speed-- looking at him with practiced disinterest even as his eyes rove _everywhere._

Hook, line, and sinker.

"Hey there, lamb chop. I got some dirty deets that I have the feeling _you'd_ like to get your hands on." Jackson smirks as he comes to stand too close while Isaac throws his legs over the rusted frame and knocks their knees together. "You left the locker room early and missed quite the show."

Jackson's just about to waggle his brows and do something with his tongue that always gets him attention when Isaac just places a hand on his chest and pushes him away-- looking down at him with an off-put air. "I don't think there's much else to see. You flash your ass around there like it won a blue ribbon and besides, I watched you fuck your mirror this morning. The 'magic' is gone."

Jackson scoffs as Isaac shrugs and starts maneuvering his bike into the garage, plunging his hands in his jean pockets when he comes back. "Whatever. You know you liked it-- why else would you have watched?"

"Bizarre fascination-- like when monkeys masturbate at the zoo." Isaac tips his head and purses his lips like it's something he's actually considering while Jackson tries to keep his blood from boiling. Little shit should be happy Jackson came over here in the first place. He could take him off first string come morning and make him water boy to complement the equipment manager defamation.

"Stilinski has a micro-cock!" He spits out before this conversation can spiral any further. He came here to make someone _else_ feel like an ass, thank you very much. "Not even exaggerating-- the guy is packing baby carrots in his panty-liners. No wonder he's an omega-- his body knew anything else would just be embarrassing. He was made to be fucked in that pretty, pink cunt." Jackson bites on his bottom lip as he pantomimes yanking Stilinski back on his dick and smacking that lily-white ass with every punched-out word.

"Uhm... ya. That's kind of the point." Isaac gives him the same look he got in the showers from Stiles and pulls a water bottle from his bag to calmly drink from-- like he isn't saying things that make completely zero sense. "How do you think Examination works? Once puberty hits-- some boy's bodies kick into over-drive to develop muscle and start the formation of a knot, some keep level and progress along a natural plateau, and some divert hormones from the growth of breeding sex organs to create an anally accessed uterus. Omega's dicks and balls stop growing around fourteen because the production of sperm is completely secondary to the need for self-lubrication and lactation. Did you get held back a grade or something?"

Jackson splutters in his confusion and mortification and he doesn't know whether to storm off angry, or take a second to sit down and rearrange his thought process. It's not like he didn't know their development was completely different from the segregated minority, but he didn't think-- the logistics of-- but that would mean--.

Apparently he was opting for sitting down. "How... did I... not know this?"

"God, it beats me," Isaac says around a mouthful of water. He kicks lightly at Jackson's knee and gives him a look that's almost sympathetic. "You talk about cocks more than anyone I know. I figured, you of all people, would be pretty intimately in touch with all that sort of information." Isaac drops into a crouch in front of him and fights with a loose collection of curls to keep them out of his eyes. "Didn't you ever... I don't know-- watch omega on omega porn? That sounds right up your alley. Degradation and exploitation all wrapped up in multiple orgasms and dirty talk."

"No! Why would _I_ need to watch porn?" Jackson looks down at the ground as he blushes, but keeps the incredulous expression on his face, rubbing his hands up and down his biceps.

Isaac just rolls his eyes and spits water on Jackson's chest with a smirk. "Stop with the front, you megalomaniac. We all know you're virginal as your linen pants. So's most of the school. Just because omegas have an early sexual development, doesn't mean you have to sprint after them to play catch up." Isaac ducks his head to try and catch Jackson's eyes, smiling as he struggles-- not caring that he's playing petulant and closing them just so he doesn't get the satisfaction. "Or is this about how you get off on the sight of your own dick?"

"You're such an ass!" Jackson growls half-heartedly as he pushes on Isaac's shoulder just hard enough to make the other boy topple. "Now I know why we never talk." He picks at his cuticles as he looks at Isaac's dumb, smiling face out of the corner of his eye and flushes slightly.

"Why do we never hang out?" Isaac props himself up on his elbows and gives Jackson another once-over. His body wracks with shivers.

"I don't know."

* * *

 

One of the first things Jackson learned growing up the way that he did, is that you can spin anything to portray yourself in a positive light. Anything. All you need is the right audience, the confidence to sell it, and the time to think it up. Unfortunately, he only has a single night to figure out what he's gonna do with his locker room misinformation, but he's been at this long enough, that he'll do just fine with that.

There's a simple solution to it all-- one he would call elegant even, if it wasn't particularly crude. But that's what the whole plan hinged on. That's what was gonna get him the attention in the first place. In a school that's segregated because of sex, sex sells even better than it usually does.

No betas are gonna give much of a damn about the story he's going with-- too busy themselves trying to fall into favor with one omega or another and be graced with a conjugal visit during class-- but a repressed group of alphas would certainly do the trick. Those guys always act like their obscenely sized balls are the darkest shade of blue and Jackson smiles at them sweetly like he knows they could use a pick-me-up.

It's Hale and his puppy pal, Scott, that he targets-- sitting in the back of the classroom and looking like every classic buddy-cop duo that ever there was. Hale sits straight as a board and glares in concentration at the paperwork laid out before him-- looking and acting like he's got a twelve foot shaft up his ass-- as always. Beside him, Scott is balancing a pencil on the tip of his nose and tapping at Derek's shoulder excitedly to get him to try and look. Jackson imagines this is exactly the way they look while they're spanking it side-by-side.

"You boys look like you could use a little... entertaining." He practically purrs as he slides into the desk in front of them, smooth as can be, and rests his arms across their tables. He waggles his brows and gives them both a complimentary once-over while he makes his eyes smolder.

"Not really in the mood for your _tall tales_ today, Jackson." Hale purses his lips as he snatches the pencil from Scott's face just before it tips right into his eye before turning back to his coursework.

"So you're completely... uninterested in how an omega bitch presented for me in the locker rooms yesterday and fucked himself on his fingers while I watched?" Jackson quirks one of his brows and chuckles when Hale freezes right up and Scott scoots forward quickly.

The mop-topped boy is something close to cute when he looks fervently around his shoulders like they're talking about starting up a meth lab in the chemistry room, and hisses in reply, "Did he really?" Hale narrows his eyes and smacks Scott in his chest to discourage him, but the other boy just kicks him back beneath the desks and leans far enough forward that Jackson can smell the Fruit Loop flavored milk that's staining his tongue. Fuck, he probably still tastes sweet... "Was he.... you know.... wet?"

Jackson knows he's got them both hooked, even if Hale is pretending like he's not listening-- he's looking fiercely down at his papers, but he's seconds away from snapping his pencil and there's sweat beading on his upper lip-- so he turns to straddle the back of his chair fully and settles in. "'Course he was. The poor thing was practically beside himself. I tackled him a few times during practice and he must've been all kinds of ripe cuz my dick got plenty of over the clothes play." They'll you this on any, shitty television show, but the real kicker is that it's true. The easiest way to lie, is just to tell a rose-tinted version of the truth.

"He's probably never been properly dicked in his life, because the guy was just _panting_ for my cock and lured me to his shower after practice." By now Scott has started squirming in his seat and the expression on his face makes him look like he just had his very first drink. His eyes are warm and unfocused and his mouth is hanging open and his hands have mysteriously disappeared from the top of the table. Hale, in stark contrast, is so rigid he looks like he could snap and his shoulders are heaving with his breathing. Jackson licks his lips as he runs the toe of his shoe up the inside of Scott's calf and out-'n-out grins when he boy whines and shivers.

"You shoulda seen this cockslut. He'd turned the water on hot enough to steam the whole room and make his skin this ridiculous shade of pink. It was like a fucking porno with the way he was lathering himself up-- rubbing over those puffy titties before rubbing up his ass." Jackson's voice starts getting thin as he feels his own heart rate ratcheting and he balls his hands into fists to hide how they're sweating. "When he heard me come in, he opened his legs and spread his cheeks. That dirty little whore probably hasn't ever manscaped-- his clunge looked like something from the damn zoo. The rim was all hairy and it was matted with the soap-- but fuck if his cunt wasn't pretty. All pink and tight and winking at me-- and his slick just cut through the water-- thick and shiny and seeping from that hungry hole."

Derek makes a noise like he's choking and Jackson wants to laugh at the way he's turned a deep shade of red all the way to the tips of his ears-- but his own ace feels like it's on fire. The next words catch in his chest for a moment and the alphas across from him make frustrated pseudo-growls at his hesitation. "He got three fingers in there on the very first try, all the way up to the third knuckle-- and the way he was grinding on them? The whole thing was fucking nasty. The second he scissored his fingers, I could see the soft insides and they looked so slick and feverish--" Jackson's interrupted by Scott making a low, gurgling groan and the desk in front of him bucks one-- two-- three times before he stills with a mortified look on his face.

It takes Jackson a second to register what just happened an another few before he can school his face back into a smirk. Maybe the way he has to clear his throat doesn't really sell his smugness at the moment, but he doesn't care. "Damn, McCall. You wouldn't have even gotten to plug your bitch yet if you were in my place. Wonder how hot for your knot he'd be after he watched you come all over your own fingers."

Scott looks guiltily down in his lap where a huge stain has spread almost to the edge of his pockets and pouts. "Shut up, dude. That was totally uncalled for."

As he gets up to stand and start hobbling out of the classroom, Jackson turns to watch him go with an overly friendly smile and a wave. "Just getting you some practice in, buddy. Alpha genes don't always denote stamina." When he shifts his focus back to Derek, the other boy is radiating waves of affront, but before he can say anything, or like, punch Jackson in the face, he starts back up. "Woah, woah, woah. Don't think I forgot about you, big boy. Scott punched out before we could get to the best part. See, once I called out to him, he turned to face me and I got to watch his little cocklet bounce between his thighs like an over-stuffed sausage. Could've swallowed the whole thing down in one go and not even feel it hit the back of your throat, I bet."

At that, Derek shoots his arm out and twists his fist in the front of Jackson's shirt-- grimacing both from the fact that he's clearly just popped his knot and that he's not very happy about it. Jackson may not have gotten him to cream his pants like Scott did, but this is still totally a win. The king of control getting harder than a geode just from a dirty story-- it's gold. "Bullshit. Like any omega in their senior year would want to submit to _you._ Who could possibly be that desperate?"

Jackson carefully and calmly wraps his fingers around Derek's wrist and smears a shit-eating grin across his face. "Stiles Stilinski."

* * *

 

Jackson only feels marginally bad about lying to everyone, but by the time he gets back home, he's reasoned it all away. The only guys he told were stuck up alphas-- too repressed to have ever fucked anything but their fists. In fact, he's sure that neither Hale nor McCall have ever been to one of the rut huts or made a heat contract with anyone. The two are like the Tweedledee and Tweedledum of the senior alphas, bumbling around with their knots bulged beneath their zippers and their eyes on the ground. Even if they told more some more guys about the lie, though there's not really anyone for them to tell, Jackson doubts it could ever get back to the omega side of town.

Stiles won't ever find out and so no harm, no foul. When he pulls into the driveway, he's feeling good enough about himself and the world, that he doesn't even bother to head in and have his customary after school wank, just tosses his backpack in the door where he's sure his mother will trip over it and have a bitch fit all night about, and then heads over to the Lahey's bungalow.

The thing is so rickety, it's almost charming. The plastic lawn ornaments and half dead grass and missing shingles make it seem like something eccentric rather than run down. He's gonna tell Isaac that, make the kid feel better about it, because Jackson has definitely noticed that he doesn't ever get invited inside. He knocks because the doorbell is broken and leans off the side of the porch to check himself out in his reflection in the windows-- fixing his hair and winking as he blows himself a kiss.

When Isaac answers he's in a ratty t-shirt that looks like it's three sizes too big and shorts that are a size too small. He's got a black eye and his jaw sits crooked when it rests. Jackson's smug grin falls right off his face and he isn't even made when all he gets in greeting is a snippy, “What?”

Jackson clears his throat and looks down at the floor, digging his hands in his pocket as he tries to find the right away around this. If he addresses it directly, Isaac will be sure to dismiss him, but if he ignores it, he knows the other boy will be pissed and think he doesn't care. Which is a fucking lie. Jackson _cares_... he just-- he's never known what to do about this. No one does. That's probably why it keeps happening. 

They're WASP's-- the whole fucking neighborhood-- shit like this gets buried down deep and they all pretend like if they don't acknowledge it, it isn't real. “Got the new Madden today, but it's no fun beating the damn computer-- no one to tea bag when I win.”

Isaac rolls his eyes, flinching halfway through the movement, but he doesn't come out from behind the door, still holding it in front of him like a shield. “Don't you have anyone else to entertain you for the day? Some of us have actual lives to attend to-- we don't have everything  _done_ for us.” Isaac scowls and moves to close the door, but Jackson just steps forward and muscles his way into the entrance, staring Isaac down. 

“Would you stop acting like a such a little shit. I'm trying to be nice to you and you should be fucking grateful, you snide ass.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest and sneers right back at the dirty looks Isaac is giving him. If the other boy wanted a pity party, he's looking in the exact wrong place. Can't blame other people for your shit-- that's just lazy and sad.

“Sorry we're not all just _dying_ to let the great _Jackson Whittemore_ deign to fuck us. If you want someone to simper after you and hang on every word, why don't you go pick up Stiles and the both of you can take turns riding the fucking controllers while they vibrate.” Isaac bares his teeth as he spits the words and Jackson feels his heart clench tight in his chest. 

Of course, the one person that would give a damn if he lied about that story.... He grits his teeth and curls his hands into fists as he turns away for a second to steel himself. He can't believe he's gonna do this. “Stilinski wouldn't let me get within five feet of him. Not now, not the other day, not anywhere other than on the field, okay? I made it up because I came on to him and he couldn't care less. Happy now?”

Isaac stands in quiet shock, though he doesn't let it show on his face, his posture around the door loosening up as the words sink in. “Oh.” This time, it's Jackson's turn to roll his eyes and he leans against the wall as he tries to look bored of this whole conversation.

“Ya, whatever, it's no big deal. He's been ignoring me since we were twelve, when we first met. The only way to get his attention is to piss him off, so he hates my guts, but at least he knows who I am, right?” Jackson folds his arms in front of his chest and resolutely looks outside and away from the boy in front of him as his eyes burn. “He wants me, I know he fucking does, I can smell it on him in the locker rooms and on the field, but that's just his body. He'd fuck me, but he couldn't stand to be around me after.” 

Isaac switches his weight back and forth from foot to foot, looking awkward as hell and projecting an air of nervousness that has Jackson jittering and on edge. “I like hanging around you, for what it's worth. You don't spend all your time worrying about how people are gonna react to you and you don't beat around the bush. You see something that you want and you take it, and you won't apologize if you jumped over somebody to get it.

And you're  _so_ confident. Probably irrationally so, but you just tell people that they're gonna like you and then you make that happen, period. You walk out their like your dick hangs to your knees and everybody believes it. You don't spend any time feeling sorry for yourself or others, you just  _do things._ ”

Isaac's eyes fly wide when he realizes he just said all of that and Jackson feels his stomach do this weird sort of flip. No one-- no one has ever said anything to him like that. At least they've never said it and meant it. Plenty of people have tried to get close to him by being brown nosers-- and in the annoying way, not the way that he actually wants. They all say whatever they need to try and make him like him, but it has never, in his life, felt like that. It's never been... from the heart.

Jackson coughs awkwardly and wipes at his eyes before turning back and looking at a spot over Isaac's shoulder. “Ya, well, you're like the strongest person I know, so. I couldn't live your life and still make it like you have. I don't get how you're still here, but I respect the hell out of you and I wish I had half the balls you do, or half the dick you think I have.” Isaac snorts and Jackson smirks and he's finally able to look the other boy in the eye again.

They stand awkwardly apart for a moment before Jackson just stutters forward and pulls him into a bro-hug, patting him softly on the back instead of the customary fist clap. He walks away before it gets weird and steps back onto the porch, looking behind him and expecting Isaac to follow after. “You gonna come let me school on this, or you wanna sit around and talk about feelings some more until we both sprout cunts and start leaking out our shorts?”

Isaac flips him off, but closes his door behind him as he starts off after Jackson. “I don't know why I like you.”

“As if! Everybody wants a piece of this.” For once, Jackson lets himself actually believe that.

 


	2. Liam

Alpha4Omega.com is the exact kind of site that parents warn their kids about the second they start asking for permission to start joining the rest of the world, sharing their every want and need on the internet and the reason why Liam was disallowed from having any sort of life on social media by his parents until he was sixteen. And that is the reason why he doesn't feel so weird about checking his profile there on his phone, on the toilet at the Stilinski household. His parents may not be unable to keep him from getting the app on his phone, but the filter they have on their wi-fi sure as hell stops him from using it.

Even though he's never received a dick pic, or sent one of those cheesy, over-the-shoulder shots of his creamy ass, it still feels like an illicit activity every time that he gets on. Probably because he's not just hiding it from his overly traditional family, but even from his bondmate. Stiles would _flip_ if he found out Liam has been chatting with a guy for the past few months-- not because it was a place infamous for casual hook-ups-- but actually the exact opposite.

Liam's not ready to give up his daily, random conversations with **truealpha1996** , but he's also not in the place to have Stiles rant _at_ him for several hours about how sites like this demean omegas and only feed into the sex addict stereotype and yadda, yadda, yadda. Just because he was born an omega, doesn't mean he was born a social justice warrior like Stiles was. He just wants to flirt with this goofy, weird, cute guy that panics every time he accidentally says something sexual and apologizes for an hour afterwards. Is that such a bad thing?

Stiles would make it sound like he's "betraying his people" or whatever. Liam doesn't get how it's anyone's business but his own that after high school, he just wants to take care of a home, cook random recipes from pinterest, and maybe get knocked up so he can justifiably design a nursery. So he wants to be taken care of-- that's not really that crazy a notion, is it? To not have to work or bother with bills and taxes and just watch Food Network while dusting all day? That sounds like the golden ticket.

It would be even better if he could convince Stiles to stick around so they could be barefoot and pregnant together! They could complain about ultrasound goo and mucus plugs and morning sickness together and probably having _rockin'_ preggo on preggo sex. Plus, **truealpha1996** has sent pictures and the three of them would have _the_ cutest mixed race pups.

It's his fantasy pitch that he's not quite ready to let go of-- the thing he dreamed up the first time he and Stiles slept together and has been slowly watching slip away as they've grown older. Harem-style homes are actually getting to be pretty mainstream these days and without another alpha to vie for position in the family, he knows this could work. Sure, there's a half-dozen reality shows making fun of polyamorous lifestyles, but they've proven to be no more dysfunctional than a two-parent household.

So... maybe he's put a little more research into this than is healthy. Maybe he still thinks if he makes a presentation with enough facts and personal testimony, he can convince Stiles that it will work, but it's not far off from the life the other boy is already planning for them. Trade-out the surrogate alpha late in life to help them inseminate and pick a less aggressive career track for Stiles... plus swapping the brownstone in the city for a ranch-style out on the edges of town... they could make it work. They could!

He's shaken out of his reverie when Stiles pounds on the door and he yelps when the skin on the back of his thighs sticks to the toilet seat. "Dude, if you're in there any longer, you're totally gonna get hemorrhoids and if that happens I _will_ stop eating you out. Don't think I won't. No amount of squirting orgasms is gonna be worth that."

"That is so gross! Why would you even say that?" Liam hurriedly stuffs his phone in his jean pocket around his ankles, like Stiles might bust down the door and catch him asking **truealpha1996** if he really does eat all the marshmallows out of his Lucky Charms before the cereal pieces or if he's just joking. "Why are we even talking while I'm on the toilet? This is officially weird Stiles. I know I ate honey out of your ass yesterday, but this is me, going on the record, and asking for boundaries."

The other boy just laughs and thunks what Liam would assume to be his head against the door. "Ya, ya, whatever. Just get a move on! We have to go over Finstock's test for Thursday and Jackson spent all practice trying to nut off on me like his brain was lost to rut-rot. You can never tell, but Jesushe makes me horny when he does that." Liam rolls his eyes even though he knows Stiles can't see and shakes his head at himself as he finishes his ablutions and starts washing up. Those two are either going to kill each other or make a family together-- it would almost be rom-com levels of cute if it wasn't so obnoxious.

"See-- now this is you still talking to me through the bathroom door, even after I asked you not to. This is why we can't be friends anymore." Liam tries his best to sound deadly serious and even keeps his face carefully blank when he swings open the door to see Stiles pouting on the other side. "Guess I'm gonna have to go and get me my own beta flirtation so my needs can be met."

"Don't even joke, man. 'S not funny. You're my rock! Without you around, I'd go stir crazy-- run to the neutral zone in the middle of the night and shine a beacon on my ass just to be sated! We don't want that now, do we?" Stiles keeps up his mope as they amble to the teen's room and flop on the bed close enough that their thighs are touching. "Bondmates are for life! It's like soldiers that bond in foxholes and have a relationship so deep, no one can ever begin to comprehend or replace it. Have the last few years finger-banging each other through heat meant nothing to you? Soon as you're through your second Examination and the war is over you're just gonna go start a family and forget about the guy that had your back when you found out milking makes you orgasm?"

Liam clamps a hand over Stiles' mouth before this rant _really_ gets going and stares down at him with the best judgmental eyebrows he can manage. He wishes he could say this wasn't an every day thing. "Whatever will you do without me to frot against?" he says without even and air of sympathy. "Seriously though-- test first, sex later. Besides, I hate doing it when your dad is still at home. I don't care that he sound-proofed your room for your sixteenth birthday, he can always tell when we've been going at it and looks at me like the succubus that corrupted his innocent boy, even though you're the one that drove two hours to the nearest sex shop to buy us a double-ended dildo."

Stiles mutters a muffled response against his palm and bats those ridiculous eyelashes prettily, but Liam still doesn't remove it-- even when the other boy starts licking distracting tracks and circles against the skin. It's gonna be a long night.

* * *

 

He wants to meet.

They haven't even talked about the subject once before now, and suddenly he wants to meet. Liam doesn't know what to to say, or even how he feels about it. Before it was just this flirtation with a dream-- so disconnected from his reality that he never had to take it seriously. It was just fun. He was having fun.

And now, suddenly, it's a life choice coming at him-- something to drastically change the way he exists. And maybe that's blowing things out of proportion, but that's just the truth that he's seeing come at him full-force. All the small things that are going to come out of this are going to add up and the eventuality of it will mean the destruction of the life Stiles has planned for them.

Whether or not that's a bad thing, he doesn't want to even consider-- he's too afraid of the answer. Because if Stiles isn't what's best for him anymore, then he's left out in the cold, on his own-- and not just him, but Stiles too. He loves Stiles. They may not be the love of each others' lives, but Liam can't imagine ever being apart, or being different from how they are now.

Sure he wants a separate kind of love from an alpha, but does that mean that he has to give up what he already has with Stiles? Something that grounds and centers him and reassures him that the world isn't going to suddenly turn on its axis-- spin out of control-- or if it did, that he could handle it, that he'd survive.

Maybe it's asking if he can have his cake and eat it too, but so what if he wants it all? That's the same thing Stiles is asking for and he's just called ambitious. Their ideas of 'everything' are different, but the want to have their picturesque life isn't. Maybe it's not selfish of him, maybe it's wishful. That's what he wants to believe.

And yet he hasn't replied. It's been four hours and he hasn't even attempted a draft of an answer. It feels like asking for the shitstorm to start. So even though his phone feels like a brick in his pocket-- like it's burning against the side of his leg-- he doesn't take it out. Stiles catches on to his twitchy behavior somewhere around lunch, but lets it slide, seeing something on his face that lets him know: not now.

He feels like he's going to vibrate right out of his skin-- and not in that good way like when Stiles is fucking him with his cock and his fingers at the same time while Liam is squirting all down his balls-- like when you're standing too close to the speakers at a concert and the vibrations of the music feel like they're shaking your organs loose and you want to vomit.

Liam hasn't felt like that since before he met Stiles-- when his pseudo heats used to make him sweat and writhe in bed for hours, whimpering and crying and knowing he wasn't going to die, but only having it make the situation that much worse because there was no end in sight. He doesn't ever want to go back to that-- the place he was in where he thought that he was an animal-- barbaric, savage, undomesticated.

Stiles brought him out of that. He was the one that showed Liam it was okay to be who he was and need what he needed. Being born an omega wasn't being born low-down, didn't make him a beast that was slave to its base desires. It just made him a different kind of person than the rest-- one that got to intimately know his best friend and offer him a kind of pleasure that slaked the very core of him.

Being an omega meant that he got to feel everything _deeper_ than the rest of the world. His friendships, his loves, and even his pains and struggles. In Stiles' eyes he was strong and beautiful and amazing and he's finally started to see that himself. That's what made this so terrifying, he realizes.

He doesn't know if he's ready to leave that shelter yet. He's just gotten to a good place, what if a life outside of Stiles' eyes and arms makes him backslide? What if this boy is nice to him outside of their instincts, but the second he's being bred, he's back to being a bitch that wants to be sired? What if this boy only treats him so well because he looks at him like property, like a particularly expensive and well-liked toy that he wants to take special care of, but that's also only a means to an end to him?

Liam feels scared, because Stiles taught him how to value himself and he doesn't want to lose the person he's become. And at the same time, he doesn't want to cower in fear of the concept of an alpha, like he thinks Stiles' special brand of almost-zealotry has a base in. He doesn't want to live his life in these terrifying what-if's. There's already so many of them-- what if he goes outside and gets hit by a car and never walks again, what if he slips in the bathtub and hits his head just right, what if, what if, what if.

It's this never-ending vicious circle that he can't find his way out of as the day goes on-- as he can't eat his lunch, gets taken out again and again in gym, gets called on in class and realizes he has no idea what they're even talking about. He needs some outside perspective-- someone without a horse in this race, that can be completely objective and give him proper advice. He needs a beta.

* * *

 

Liam finds one in the bleachers-- perched on the edge of the metal bench and jimmying his leg as he watches the boys work out their energy and aggression below. If he follows his eyes, he swears the other kid has them trained on Jackson Whittemore, of all people, but he can't find it in himself to believe that anyone is actually concerned after that guy's existence. Liam's here under the pretense of cheering Stiles on, but seeing as how he rarely attends his lacrosse games at all, it's a weak one at best.

The stands are half-empty, as they always are when an event is scheduled on the same night as an alpha game. Basically, no one wants to watch JV when varsity is taking field just a mile away. It works out well for him, though, as he gathers his courage to talk while slowly seat-hopping towards the lanky, curly-haired boy who never stands to shout with everyone else, but has made a habit of rumbling and spitting every time things don't go BHHS's way.

Liam finds the behavior more than a little gross, but he supposes beggars can't be choosers when you're looking to unload your whole emotional and sexual history upon a stranger for examination. He's about fifteen feet away-- seven seats and the epiphany of an ice breaker-- when the boy in question turns to him with a bored look on his face and crooks his finger in a come-hither that is decidedly less, _I want to ravage your flushed and heated body_ and more _I'm about to lose my patience if you don't get this over with right this second._

Liam gulps audibly as he stands, hesitates, and then shuffles over to sit beside him-- looking down at the field to try and save himself some manner of embarrassment. “Finally. I was thinking you wouldn't even get to me by the time the game ended. It was cute for about a half an hour and then it just got real sad, real fast.”

Liam flushes first with mortification-- surprised tears leaping to his eyes before he can rein them in, but never spilling after he realizes and sucks them back-- and then anger. His hands clench into fists at his sides as he positively bristles. “What the fuck do you even know?” Swearing's not really his thing, but Stiles has a colorful enough vocabulary, that he thinks he's got it down for when he needs it.

“Woah there, Cujo. I was just teasing, no need to get your hackles all a-rising.” The boy gives him a placating smile that's probably only half-genuine and before Liam can register what he's doing, reaches out and tangles his fingers through his hair, curls them behind his ear and scratches. He wants to _drool_ with it. “There you go... all better? You're a cute, little thing-- feisty too-- and lord if you don't smell ripe enough to pup right here and now, but I'm afraid I've got my eye on someone else at the moment.”

“Wha--” Liam struggles for a moment to get past the sheer, placating pleasure that's radiating from those magic fingertips and shifts uneasily in his seat as he starts to feel himself go moist and supple. “That's not-- I'm not--” he frowns a little as he tries to focus and the other boy smiles something wicked before he finally drops his hand away and smiles with teasing eyes.

“I'd apologize, but I'm not really that sorry. You omegas are just so damn pliable, it's a wonder you're not all pregnant by sixteen. There's just something about a creature so eager and willing to please...” the stranger bites his lip as he blushes a little and then coughs, shaking his head. “Fuck, you better stop pumping out those pheromones or I'm liable to do something a little less innocent than scratch your ears.”

Liam can't help the way that only serves to make him dew a little more, and he carefully shifts away in the hopes that it'll ease up that mulled spice starting to permeate the air that even he can smell. “Sorry, my body kind of goes into overdrive when you play with that instinctual stuff. Hitting a submissive spot _while_ implying competition for a mating? There's really no getting around how much that turns me on-- but I'm not here for that!” Liam quickly back-pedals when he realizes what that sounds like and raises his hands up in front of him.

“No offense, but why else would you be all nervously sliding closer and closer to me and working up a nervous sweat?” the other boy looks a little on edge himself-- eyes blown wide, sweat at his temples, breathing through his mouth.... but that's probably Liam's fault.

“I'm sorry, can we start again? I'm Liam,” he holds out his hand for the stranger to shake and gets a mumbled 'Isaac' in reply-- both of them too busy to much pay attention as the beta's fingers stroke against the pulse point in Liam's wrist almost possessively. They slowly lean into each other and the air feels like it's starting to get hot and thick. Liam feels his heart pounding steadily through his whole body and licks his lips as Isaac gets close enough, he can feel the other boy's breath against his face.

There's a clatter of pads down on the field and then the harsh swill of a whistle and the two of them jump away from each other immediately, chests heaving and faces red. “Maybe you should put a seat between us if you want to get anything besides a sore ass out of tonight,” Isaac suggests in a thin voice. Liam nods a little over-enthusiastically and scoots far enough away that they can't reach out and touch, but can still hear each other over the small crowd.

“Anyway, believe it or not, I came here to talk to you about an alpha--”

“Woah, woah, woah. Let's get one thing clear, right here and now. I am not gonna be your drug mule, no matter how sweetly you beg. You know how many betas get caught ferrying contraband between the sides? Send your slick-soaked love letters through someone else, I'm not getting suspended for your high school sweetheart.”

Liam narrows his eyes and growls softly at being interrupted-- slamming an open hand down on the metal bleachers to make a clang loud enough to get Isaac to shut up. “If you'd let me talk for one _goddamned_ second instead of interrupting me every time I open my mouth, we'd already probably be done with this conversation.” Isaac arches a brow like he's gonna argue for a second, but then just crosses his arms and nods his head.

“Okay, so...” Liam centers himself for a second, gathering everything he wants to say and breathing deep so he has the room to say it. “I have a bondmate that I love very much and that I've been happy with ever since we met, but here lately I've been feeling like I'm missing something and I think that something is an alpha. I've always sort of been in love with the idea of being someone's so completely and finding the center of your universe inside a partnership. I want to have pups of my own and raise them with a loving husband in our own home, but I want to have my bondmate there, experiencing that all with me. I want us to rub cocoa butter on each other's stretch marks and try to figure out breast pumps together and glow and revel in our bodies together, but--.

But my bondmate hates the idea of being a kept man-- of being a walking stereotype. He's always going on and on about the injustices of our alpha-dominated society and how we don't need them and how they're entitled asses with rut-rot. _He_ wants us to live an independent life together and becoming a living, breathing statement to the world. And I don't know how to reconcile those things. I can't live without him, but I don't know if I can be truly happy in the way he wants me to be.

To top it all off, I've been talking with this alpha online, behind his back, and now he wants to meet, and I don't know what to tell him because I feel like if I do this, there's no turning back. There's no more wishful thinking and there's no more denial. If I go to him, there's a good chance we're going to mate and there's no hiding that sort of thing. It'll all be laid out on the table and that frightens me-- almost as much as never doing anything about it.” It all comes spilling out as Liam looks down at his hands and tries to choke back the overwhelmed tears that are itching at his eyes, his breathing shallow and his chest twinging painfully. He's been holding it back for so long, it feels like he just lanced a festering cyst-- it's painful still and throbbing, but that unbearable pressure has eased and the infection is gone.

Haltingly, nervously, he looks back up to Isaac and sniffles slightly, rubbing at his eyes. The beta looks slightly astonished before his face melts into soft sympathy and he moves forward, sliding along the bench, to wrap his arms around Liam and give him a tight squeeze before letting go. “Well, I definitely was not expecting that,” he sighs with a minuscule amount of levity. “Firstly, I feel like this is a conversation you should be having with your bondmate and not with me... but I also get why you might want to have it out with someone else before you go to him with it.

Second, I think he may have rubbed off on you a little too much-- and not even in the good way.” Isaac arches a brow and looks down at him with the most cartoonish look of lecherousness he's ever seen. Despite his sniffling, Liam chuckles a little and smiles at him. “You're looking at this like it's black and white-- all or nothing-- and it isn't. That's why ideologies are just that-- they're not real life. The world we live in isn't simple and it isn't perfect. You can force yourself into one of those extremes, but that would be idiotic, and I think you're better than that.

Unless you think that your bondmate is going to be so offended at this imagined 'betrayal' that he'll break all ties with you and move to another country, there's no reason you can't find some happy medium. Don't deny yourself a happiness, just from the fear that it'll make someone else uncomfortable. Then you're living life on their terms instead of yours and what a waste that would be.”

Isaac smiles gently at him and wraps an arm around Liam's shoulders, letting his hands play with the shell of an ear again. “I think you should go and meet this boy and see if there's really something there. If he's the love of your life, than what else could possibly be as important? You kind of don't get the chance to be this reckless ever again-- when else in your life will you be able to place a potential romance above all your other problems? Run head first into this and hold nothing back, because that's something we should all get to experience at least once.” He sighs deeply and looks back out at the field for a moment-- eyes finding that same spot as before. “You can't be afraid forever-- what does that get done? And maybe you'll get hurt, yes, but maybe it'll be the greatest adventure you ever get to live.”

Turning back with just a little sadness in his eyes, he shrugs and presses their foreheads together with a half-smile. “If your bondmate really loves you the way that you love him, he'll see that, and he won't want to take that away from you. He'll just want to make you happy and he'll have to grow a little to accommodate that. The specifics can be worked out later, along the road, but this? This is now, this is everything. All those what-if's only exist if you take this leap first. If things don't change, they stagnate, and maybe this will make you both better than you ever were in the first place.”

Liam fights down the impassioned excitement humming just below his ribs from such a heartfelt declamation and tries to let the assurances and practicalities of it settle inside him. Because this situation may be astatic, but it's still fragile and deserves a measure of caution. Isaac was right, about a lot of things, but mostly-- he and Stiles have to have a talk.

* * *

 

Liam's thighs are quivering like he'd just been on the business side of a taser and his knees ache so deeply, he wonders if they'll ever work properly again, but he won't put his legs down for the world because the upturn of Stiles' nose is pressed flat against his taint and those sweet lips are making obscene slurping noises as he guzzles Liam's slick like it's his own, personal desert oasis. Stiles is always worked up after a game and the deep-soaked stench of sweat was more than Liam could turn away.

They're lucky they made it back to Stiles' room, in all honesty, because Liam had soaked all the way through his liner within five minutes of being in the enclosed car cabin with him. Stiles always teases that body took it too far and made him a super-omega, a god among his own kind, but once he gets his mouth down to the plush heat of Liam's opening, he suddenly doesn't have all that much to say. Tease all he wants, he _loves_ that Liam gushes like a faucet and spatters his body with slick every time he comes.

The Conversation is nagging insistent and unrelenting in the back of Liam's head even as Stiles is plunging to fingers in alongside his tongue, but Liam keeps pushing it away as he feels his stomach tighten and his whole body wrack with shivers. As much as they both dream of knots and use bulbous strap-on's with a vibrating channel to slide their own, slender cocks in, no one knows how to eat ass like Stiles does and Liam holds onto his bondmate's hair with a white-knuckled grip as he rides wave after wave of his orgasm-- dick drooling anemic amount of pearly semen in comparison to bed-soaking wreck his ass is leaving.

There'll be time enough for talking later, because when Stiles finally lifts away and his lips are so red and puffy he looks like he got stung by a bee, he's still hard as diamonds and this was supposed to be _his_ celebration lay after winning the game, after. Liam's muscles are complete and utter jelly, but he has it in him still to usher his best friend forward to straddle his chest. With shaking hands, he puts enough pillows behind himself to prop his head up and he smiles as he kisses the crease of Stiles' thighs and noses at his wild bush.

“You were really good out there today-- I always forget how agile you can be when you're fighting for something.” Liam sighs softly in contentment as he kisses the rosy, pink head of Stiles' dick and mouths along its small ridges. The other boy groans and falls forward, planting his hands on the top of his headboard to keep from smashing Liam. Tenderly, delicately, he starts to lick at that perfect, plump mouthful and slides his hands around to the back of Stiles' thighs, tips of his fingers pulling at the bottoms of his asscheeks and sticking to the humid damp.

“You're so good to me,” he murmurs as his heart clenches painfully and Liam surges forward to swallow Stiles down before he can say something before he's ready. He's not usually one to get cum-dumb, but he's feeling a sweeping sense of something like nostalgia while they make love tonight and it's overwhelming his common sense. While Stiles groans and rolls his hips above him-- stretching out the pocket of his cheek and rubbing against the top of his mouth-- he tries to lose himself in pleasuring his bondmate as best as he can.

His fingers aren't quite so long or nimble as Stiles', but they're just as experienced, and sink home inside of the omega with measured ease. It makes Stiles moan and grind, almost to the back of his throat, ass clenching in delight. Liam hums to let the vibrations tickle all along his shaft and he rest his forehead against Stiles' soft belly to just let the boy use his mouth as he pleases.

Stiles is considerably tighter than Liam himself was, but he wasn't just torturously eaten out for a half an hour, and besides, he's just got a bit of a smaller opening. But his slick is thicker too and coats Liam's fingers and palm nicely instead of just flowing down his wrist and forearm as he massages the silken inner walls. Liam kneads one of the generous swells of his ass with one hand as the other scissors inside him and he buries his nose in his pubes, contentedly.

Stiles' balls bounce against his chin as the boy pushes back on Liam's fingers and then lurches forward into his mouth again and again, shaking above him and breathing heavily. His eyes are closed and his mouth is hanging open around the noises he's making, like he's falling apart. The slick starts flowing faster, more copious, and Liam knows that he's close.

He starts rooting his fingers deeper, a little harshly, and he has to wrench Stiles' ass apart to get them deep enough to find that spot he knows will tip him over the edge. Stiles immediately knows what he's gunning for and clenches around him-- walls trying to pull him deeper, help him out and milk him. His thrusts get a little less coordinated and the muscles in his thighs start to bunch and tighten in anticipation.

Liam smashes his face against his bondmate's pelvis to push himself down on every last inch and flutters his tongue against the underside of his dick right as he bares down on the little node inside Stiles. The other omega grunts like he's been punched in the gut and then mewls as he hunches forward, arms coming down to hug Liam's face to his stomach as he dribbles cum on the very back of his tongue and his hole starts to swell and puff up.

Liam _just_ manages to yank his fingers free before they're mashed by the ring of muscle and trapped inside until Stiles comes down. It must have been _damn_ good tonight if he's cock trapping. Liam smiles as he pulls off Stiles' already softening dick wetly and then kisses his hip bones sweetly. “Congrats Mr. MVP.”

Stiles chuckles breathlessly and falls back to sit on Liam's thighs-- face contorting into a grimace as he reaches back and carefully massages his convulsing rim. “Ow, fuck. If I thought I was gonna get this worked up, I would've prepped a plug to milk. I get the worst fucking cramps when I cunt clamp on nothing.”

“Oh, poor baby. You orgasmed so hard you hurt yourself. What a miserable life!” Liam makes a mock pout as he kisses and sucks a line up to the center of Stiles' chest before planting a big, wet 'mwa!' against his puffy lips. “Real talk, though, tonight was pretty great for you. Two goals and a win, your bondmate came to your game and then in your mouth, and it's officially the weekend, so I can stay over kiss your poor, achy backside better in the morning while we're eating bacon and watching cartoons.”

Stiles smiles and oozes on top of him until Liam groans and shoves him to the side. “Ya, it was _pretty_ amazing. You should come and watch me play more often. I like having witnesses around so I know I'm not just paranoid that Jackson digs his fingers too deep when he slaps my butt after good plays.” Liam laughs, even as Stiles tries to smother him with a pillow and squirms happily beneath his weak-limbed attempts. “It's not funny! I think he's got a serious crush and I don't know how to tell him I'd hate fuck him in a second, but we could _never_ be boyfriends. I like a good fight, but I just could not deal with every day being a struggle, you know?”

When Stiles pulls off the pillow he's smiling and his breathing almost back to normal and he looks wrung out and just so contented, Liam almost hates to break the peace. But the opening is right there, and before he's even decided to take it, he's let the silence stretch on a couple more beats than is necessary and that smile is starting to slip. “You really mean that, don't you?” he murmurs softly, curling up a little and tugging on the sheets below him to relocate the big wet spot he left.

“Of course I do. What's the point of a relationship if you never have a moment of peace? Isn't the point of it finding someone that you can just relax and be yourself around? Like you and me... right?” All the sudden, Stiles is looking like his whole world is about ready to come crashing down around him and maybe it is and maybe it's gonna be Liam's fault... and maybe that's all okay. You gotta tear down the old stuff before you can make something new, something better.

“I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for a while now, and I thought maybe I never would, but I realized if we want to have a happy future together, I have to. And I want that to be clear, before I say anything else, okay? I want us to always have another tomorrow together, I want to know that we'll always be able to find comfort like this together-- just you and me hanging out, doing nothing, and being ourselves, whatever that will come to mean. Okay? I love you and you love me and you have to promise me that.”

Stiles' eyes are blown wide, but his lips are clamped fiercely shut and that happy, glowy sheen of sweat from their activities has suddenly turned sickly. He scoots far enough away so that they're not touching anymore and it makes Liam absolutely _ache,_ but he gives him what room he might need. He just keeps looking at him, open and honest, and hopes that he can see that Liam wants this to work out. After a long, agonizing few minutes, Stiles finally nods and croaks out, “Promise.”

Liam breaks out into a smile and lets out a punched-out sob as he nods his head furiously, happily and hugs himself. “Good, good. That's-- great. Because you're always gonna be a part of me, even when I find an alpha and settle down. That's the life that I want for myself and what's going to make me happiest in the world. I want a family and a home of my own. I want to cook pancakes barefoot and pregnant in a sunny kitchen on a property out in the country. And I want you to be there with me, but I don't want to hold you back either. I don't want to force you into my dream and so I don't think it's fair to just blindly follow you into yours. I don't ever want to come to resent you or ruin this thing that we have between us. It's the most important thing in my life.

But... I met an alpha. I've been talking to this guy online and he's not like the others-- asking me to spread my legs and send them pics or telling me I should be grateful for the attention. He's sweet and funny and always asks me about my day and we stay up late and talk about stupid things like what we would do with a million dollars or if we could cross-breed any two animals or whatever.

We haven't exchanged names, but he wants to meet and I want to say yes so badly my stomach hurts, but I haven't yet, because I wanted to ask you to come with me. I want you to be there, because you're in all my most important memories and the reason behind where I am today.” Liam's hands and mouth keep moving in a restless pattern but he finds he has nothing else to say and fidgets beneath Stiles' gaze. His stomach is twisted in knots and he feels like he's just about to burst into tears no matter what his friend says, but it's all held back with him, waiting on this precipice for Stiles to react.

The other boy is fiddling with the frayed corner of a blanket and his eyes and nose are red, his mouth pulled tightly level. At first he just shrugs-- what that means, neither of the appear to know-- and his mouth flaps silently. Then he turns his head to look up at Liam from under guarded eyelids and his mouth purses into a determined frown. “I didn't know... You never said anything. I wish you had said something. I feel like such a fucking _dick._ ”

Liam smiles very tentatively, lips wobbling, and shakes his head. “You've always been so adamant about living a life outside of societal pressures-- I was afraid you'd laugh at me or think I was an idiot. I thought... I thought you wouldn't want me anymore.”

Stiles' careful facade completely breaks at that and he surges forward to snatch Liam up and hug him tight, smashing him with his arms. It feels amazing. “Dude, what this is-- it's not just sex. I don't care what everyone else sees when they look in on an omega bond. We're not fuck buddies or friends with benefits, this is-- it's primal. I _need_ you. Fucking-- I feel it in my bones! We belong together, however that is. Okay?”

Liam sniffles and rubs his wet eyes and dripping nose against Stiles' chest hair, laughing when he makes an affronted noise.

“Okay.”

 


	3. Scott

It's hard to pay attention to just about anything when Scott is desperately trying not to think about how much he screwed everything up. School, sports, friends-- none of them hold his focus because it's been twenty-four hours and he hasn't received a response. He pushed too hard, too fast and now **rufflover** has fled the scene. Scott promised that he wasn't gonna be like all those other guys, that he would take things slow and they could just be friends if they wanted too, and then he asked to meet and the omega probably thinks he wants to breed him in the woods and then dash back across the border and leave the ABO Affairs to deal with the kid.

Derek says that's worst-case scenario and he's blowing it out of proportion, but Derek also said it was probably for the best because omegas were only good for distracting people who wanted to get stuff done. He may be Scott's best friend, but they kind of hated each other at first and it's kind of because Derek can be a dim child and an ass. Scott honestly can't think of anyone that didn't hate Derek before they became close. It's kind of how he reels them in, he supposes.

But that's not the point! The point is that he ruined his life and he doesn't have anyone to blame for it but himself. **rufflover** felt comfortable and safe with him and he threw it all away because he got too eager. The other boy was just so cute and sweet and weirdly impassioned about random things. They once got in a fight about what can and can't be inside a fritata and Scott still maintains, in secret, that they can have any of the same topping as a pizza-- ergo all things-- he conceded defeat to the omega just so they could not be arguing anymore. Boy, had Derek had a field day with that one. “The world has been held back by too many omegas simpering about decency and correctness, all in an effort to placate us all into a stupor.”

Scott just thinks the guy needs to get laid. He hasn't made a single heat contract ever since his Examination, even though plenty of betas have been willing, and he once let it slip that he only masturbates in the shower when he needs to relieve stress! What kind of a life even is that? Scott may not go around bragging about it and telling gross stories like Jackson Whittemore, but even he agrees that the world just runs a little better when everyone's balls have been emptied that day and there's the promise of it happening again later. Everyone's just happier and more willing to compromise.

Scott even bought him a fleshlight for his sixteenth birthday and paid the extra forty dollars for a knot bulb attachment. Derek was not too pleased, but he also didn't ever give it back, so maybe that's to thank for those rare, but always excitable days when Derek comes into class with a smile on his face and a can-do attitude. Scott always smiles back extra bright and jabs him in ribs with his elbow to waggle his eyebrows and chin-nod at his junk in camaraderie.

He's not very good at the reciprocation though. Derek's the _best_ friend when it comes to loyalty and protecting his own and helping you out of a sticky situation, but if you need him to whisk you away for a day of fun and distraction, you could not pick a worse companion. His eyes bulge out at the very mention of maybe sluffing the day and just going out to get ice cream, shooting hoops, and maybe watching that new omega-on-omega tape Scott found in the dumpster behind the video store. “Why don't you just throw yourself into your school day? Pre-calc and strength training should be more than enough to keep you occupied. Plus they're serving mini-corndogs in the cafeteria today and those _are_ your favorite.”

The problem with Derek is that even when he's the one on the downside, he's very diplomatic and you can't ever fault him for trying, especially since it looks like it gives him constipation every time he's thrown into the middle of something he knows he's not good at. Like when they went to Jackson's end of the year party last summer just after school got out and had to play strip poker. Derek's a shit liar and a total prude and that was the first time anyone-- everyone actually since they were all gathered to watch-- found out he's kinda hung and also uncut. He hasn't been to a party since. 

“Dereeeek, my heart is potentially breaking into a million pieces and you're my best friend and you're supposed to make me feel better and not lecture me about wasting my potential on being a stay-at-home dad.” Scott pouts his very best and nudges at Derek's shoulder as they're driving. They're only a few blocks away from school and if they don't turn away soon they won't get the chance. “I won't even try and make you watch porn with me although everyone else in the locker room swears they get to parallel play with _their_ friends.”

“Who is this everyone? Is it Jackson, because we all know he's a total liar and probably a virgin. You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Scott, and somehow I doubt the entire basketball team has been involved in a circle jerk.” Derek blushes even as he's being indignant and Scott drops his forehead to the curve of his shoulder with a sad huff.

“If you play hooky with me, I won't make you put any pictures on your Alpha4Omega profile...” Scott props his chin up on Derek's shoulder to watch his reaction-- knowing that this is the perfect bait since they've been arguing the point for weeks. Derek lost a bet being a cocky ass in a game of H-O-R-S-E and so he already _has_ to make one and message at least one omega, but he's been delaying the inevitable with weeks of inane fights about every minute detail. No pictures means no one will be able to link him to the profile but Scott and he can therefor deny it ever existed and keep up his reputation as an alpha that doesn't need nobody. That's how Scott likes to describe his fanaticism-- complete with a bad country-western accent, squinty eyes, and locked jaw. Derek doesn't think it's that funny. 

Derek's eyes are squinted and his mouth pursed and his breathing tight, like this all might be a trap, but Scott can see his resolve crumbling and he has to fight not to smile about it until Derek's has completely and totally given in. He just has to give him a few more seconds to pretend he's weighing the options and.... “Fine,” Derek grunts and takes the next right turn a little sharper than he had to. “But we're not going anywhere our parents could find out, I don't want to hear a word more about this omega-tease of yours, and we are  _not_ jerking each other off-- deal?”

Scott scrambles back into his seat with a toothsome grin and folds his legs under him as he tries not to bounce up and down in excitement. “I can't promise you any of those things, but I'll try my hardest.”

Derek just rolls his eyes and starts heading to the nearest shitty Mexican fast-food place. Even if he's not a great communicator, he sure does know how to listen and knows Scott well. “You're paying for my burrito and you're also not saying a thing when it gives me gas for the rest of the day.”

Scott nods his head and looks out the window, mouthing, 'No promises.'

* * *

 

There's only two Mexican restaurants in all of Beacon Hills-- one is cheap, delicious and gives you huge portions and a possible case of dysentery, while the other is a chain that uses Velveeta cheese, Fritos, and generic brand hot-sauces, but would never be caught dead angering the public with something like  _health code violations._ The former is the most popular and the one they choose to go to, even though being in the car with Derek afterwards will be like experimenting with mustard gas. 

It's all worth it though as nothing soothes a troubled soul like melted cheese, salsa so hot your nose runs, and enough horchata to make your stomach ache from the sugar. The mariachi music, laminated menus, and plastic ware are enough to keep Scott preoccupied for a whole half hour as he and Derek burp refried beans and massage distended stomachs while psyching themselves up to finish the last fourth of their meal.

But once Derek has bolted to the bathroom with stilted legs and a hand pressed against his ass, Scott has decided to take a lemon sucker instead of a mint, and they've forked over a crumpled handful of coupons from the daily classifieds,  **rufflover** is right back at the front of Scott's mind. Why hasn't he answered? It's not like him to be gone for so long. Sure, sometimes they go the whole school day without being able to reach each other, but after three o'clock rolls around and they're both free-- Scott's phone usually pings with messages so frequently Derek threatens to smash it. 

So, from there Derek takes him to the preserve that dominates the landscape and is actually bigger than the town itself. Marking the northern end of town, it sprawls wide enough to cover both segregated areas of town and the neutral zone and then stretches on until the next city breaks it up about thirty miles over. It's probably the most interesting place there is for teenagers to go-- after the run-down arcade, outdated mall, and various small-town food establishments lose their charm around sophomore year of high school.

Scott skips rocks in a creek and catches tadpoles in his hands and balances on logs while Derek swats at mosquitoes and grumbles about getting mud on his new jacket, and shits behind thorny bushes. It's about as good as days off here get. Without having the option to just wander around main street, dope around at home, or drive to the next town over, this is the best that they can do.

Scott doesn't mind though. He likes laying down on the smooth river rocks and letting the sun warm his face-- takes off his shirt and jeans to catch a little bit of a tan. He scans trees for all the random things people have carved into the trunks over the years and tries to decipher abbreviations, or come up with stories about who put them there and why. He even braids Derek a crown out of daisies and makes himself an anklet as they go further an further into the woods.

“Alright, Scott. It's like four in the afternoon now, the day is over. Let's go home so I can drink a bottle of pepto, you can make us brownies, and I can change out of these damn jeans. I don't think I can feel my legs anymore-- I'll even let you sprinkle some pot in them and we can beat off as long as I'm high first and our thighs don't touch.” Derek is looking like the most miserable creature to have ever been put on this earth, but somehow with him it can only be called brooding and not pouting. Scott thinks it's probably the beginnings of facial hair along his jaw and upper lip. 

This is him, on his knees, begging, even if he's not  _ literally  _ doing any of those things. Scott knows when Derek is at his wit's end and this is it. He isn't one for bargaining, or recreational drugs, or admitting that he has a sex drive whatsoever. Loose sweatpants that show pubes and how hairy his asscrack is-- that's his happy place though. “C'mon Derek! Just a little bit longer. My legs haven't even started to burn yet and unless I'm completely exhausted I'm just gonna stay up all night thinking about him.” 

Derek looks like he's  _ this close  _ to whining and stomping his feet but he just huffs loudly and keeps trucking forwards, dragging his feet as his only sign of protest. And this is why he's actually kind of an amazing friend. He may not like it, but he'll always show up for you when you need him. Always. 

Scott smiles as they follow the incline further up towards where he knows the path turns in on itself and a ravine over looks the portion of the preserve they've waded through and the city nestled at it's base below. He loves to come over here and look down at the podunk, little place that he calls home as it will someday be to him-- whole-- not divided into places he can never go and people he can never see.

From here, he won't be able to see the checkpoints that dot the borders dividing the city into thirds, won't have to hear the loudspeakers announce that curfew is in five hours, won't have to feel the anxiety and embarrassment over his next Examination coming up and wondering if he'll be deemed fit to comingle with the rest of the world. He's been able to control when and where he knots for a year and a half now, but he's never been subjected to omega pheromones while trying to keep calm either.

It's probably the single thing he worries most about these days-- not final exams, not college applications, not if he'll drift away from his friends. He's haunted by the idea that if he ever  _ did  _ get to meet someone like  **rufflover** , they'd talk and laugh and eat and hang out, and then the boy would kiss him goodbye and it would get intense and Scott wouldn't be able to let go and he'd have to jab himself from suppressants to keep from pupping someone on their first date. All he wants is to be so connected to someone it'll be like it was written in the stars, but what if he wasn't meant for it?

Derek seems to have taken notice of his quiet by the time the slope starts to curve and they take a second to relax on some rocks and take long pulls out of the sports bottles they brought along from Derek's overripe gym bag. Even hours later, as Scott drinks from his, it smells like feet and sweaty balls. “You  _ really  _ like this guy, don't you?”

Scott looks down at his hands as he plays with the clasp on the bottle and shrugs a little, self-deprecatingly. “I know I get excited over things really easy and we're only eighteen and we don't even know each other's real names, but-- I just feel a connection with him. And it's not just that we like the same things or want similar stuff out of life once we get out of school-- though all that is true-- when he's sad, I swear I can  _ feel  _ it. And if he's frustrated with me, I know immediately when to back down, which you know I'm usually almost as bad as Jackson at. 

I don't know, it's just like there's this channel between us that I've never really had with someone else before. Like we communicate on a whole other level. Like the pheromones that I've been fighting against my whole live are finally working  _ with  _ me and opening my world up to this whole other plane of living that I've never realized was there before, you know?”

Derek's eyes are big and shiny when Scott finally looks up and across from him, and after a long moment of heavy silence, the other boy rubs angrily at them and sniffs. “No, no I don't.” Scott feels a little like an ass, but also like he might finally have a way to reach across that careful divide that Derek always keeps between him and everyone else.

“Well, you will. I feel that too.” Scott smiles and comes to stand beside him, knocking their shoulders and entwining their fingers even when it makes Derek scoff. He doesn't let go though. “And I think you're afraid of that connection and that's why you're so hard on omegas. _You_ don't like the idea of someone being able to get to you-- someone being able to see right past what you project and into what you really are. You won't have control over what they can and can't know about you and that makes you feel cornered and angry and that's why you act like they're crippling you-- crippling all alphas.” 

Derek squeezes his hand and growls softly to let Scott know that the moment for bald-faced candor is quickly coming to an end, but Scott isn't cowed in the least. Derek has never scared him and that's probably why they became best friends in the first place. Derek finally found someone he couldn't scare away.

“It's adorable when you act like you hate when we work our emotions out together. I know you like it.” Scott bumps their shoulders again until Derek looks at him and then smiles as he kisses him softly. For all his consternation about it every time it happens, Derek is always sweetly gentle and affectionate as they kiss and Scott loves the kittenish way the other alpha nips at his lips before he pulls away. “C'mon now, we're only like two miles from the edge and I thought it would be a real cherry on top of our marathon day of bonding if we held hands while we pissed off of it.”

Derek slaps his free hand over his face and groans as Scott skips forward and excitedly pulls him along with by the hand. “I'm not letting you touch my penis, Scott. I don't care if you've never seen a foreskin before!”

“We'll see!” Scott laughs as he trots happily forward at the same pace they started. He breathes in the crisp mountain air and sighs happily. Today has been a good day.

* * *

 

He gets the message around seven.

They're just about ready to start turning back to make curfew, when the tell-tale ping of the app on his phone makes Scott freeze in the middle of a crouch. Derek looks over to him with wide eyes, hands hovering above his thighs like he's afraid if he moves the wrong way, the message will erase itself. Slowly, they turn their heads to look to each other and Scott swallows heavily right before Derek blinks up at him and then nods his head in a single, firm bob. 

Scott falls back to the ground with a whuff and tries to ignore how his hands shake a little when he pulls his phone out of his pocket and the screen flickers on. The click it makes when it unlocks seems a thousand times louder in the tense atmosphere and Scott's stomach is all twisted in knots as he pulls down his notifications, clicks on the lewd, if informative icon that looks like a simple target until you realize the meaning, and catches his breath high in his chest as the screen loads.

**truealpha1996** : Would you want to meet?

**rufflover** : When and where?

Scott feels a little like he just got punched in the stomach, but his heart soars at the same time. It's kind of the same sensation as the loop-de-loop on a rollercoaster, and he  _ loves  _ amusement parks. “Derek! Oh my god, Derek. He wants to meet.” And just as Scott is about to happy dance all over the place and make Derek do it with him, his phone pings again. 

** rufflover:  ** Actually, can we do it now?

** rufflover: ** My friend wants to come along. 

** rufflover ** : He wants to make sure it's legit and you're not gonna kidnap me for my uterus or something.

** rufflover ** : His words, not mine. 

** rufflover ** : Anyway,

** rufflover ** : Says he knows a way around the checkpoints, but only before the next shift change.... 

Scott looks over at Derek whose expression went from happy/relieved to pinched off and wary in the space of a second. They were so close to having a conflict free day. “Pleeease? C'mon, Derek break the rules just this once. It's not like we'd be ferreting drugs or anything, it's just a hook-up, I mean meet-up.”

“Scott, do you know how much trouble we'd be in if we were caught with omegas, after curfew, beyond town lines? Over-population laws are stricter than fucking home invasion!” Derek's already standing up and brushing himself off, looking like he's about to kick down doors or something.

“That's mostly for metropolitan areas and you know it! Everyone border hops in Beacon Hills, and I thought we were gonna try and be a little better about all this, together? Or were you just saying that to get me to shut up?” Scott curls his hands into fists and tries his best to back Derek down. Any time they've ever gotten in a fight like this, he's always been the one to concede first, but he's not going to today, not on this. 

He stands his ground and squares his shoulders and tries to make himself tall, tries to tower over Derek in spirit, if not size. “Scott-- we had a good day, your omega wants you back, and we didn't get caught skipping out on class-- let's leave this as it is and walk away before we do anything we might regret.”

“I'm going to regret _not_ doing this Derek, don't you get that? This is it, this is now. Stop acting like you're smarter than me, just because you're afraid!” Scott steps into his space and presses their foreheads together, gnashing his teeth and pushing against him. 

Derek is absolutely livid with the challenge and Scott wonders if this might be the first time an argument between them comes to blows. “I am no coward.” It's said with strength, but supported with nothing, and sinks before them like stone on sand. Seconds after he says it, Derek starts hunching in on himself.

And Scott has to press his advantage. “So prove it. Invite them here, be an alpha.” Scott hates the very concept, but it's one Derek's been trying to live up to his whole life. Lost in a strong family devoted to the image, it's the one thing he can't resist to prove.

With a snarl, Derek takes the bait and snatches Scott's phone from his hand-- furiously typing out a reply before tossing it back over as he turns back to sit on the ledge. “Have it your way.

* * *

 

Scott can hear them crunching through the underbrush for a while before they approach-- the curve of the path making them near enough to hear even as they are a few minutes away. It gives him time to strip his shirt and spray himself down with water, trying to wipe away the heavier stink of the day with just his damp palms. Derek watches him with barely concealed derision, but at the last second stands up to do the same.

He's just wriggling his shirt back on over his head when the boys come hiking into view. Scott recognizes one of them immediately from his pictures, and can't keep a huge, blinding grin from breaking out on his face as he practically vibrates with excitement. He's a bit of a short boy, but also stocky-- young in the face, but built like a lineman. His eyes shine with a similar happiness and his feet dance across the loose dirt as he grasps tightly onto his companion's arm and carefully holds himself behind the other omega.

It's an effort, but Scott forces himself to look away and to the boy with him. He's tall and lanky and moves like his limbs grew faster than the rest of him. His skin is a lovely pale in the evening dim and pocked with smatterings of beauty marks that oddly endear him. His lips are pink as are his nose and fingers and the amber of his eyes hold some measure of hesitance and embarrassment. For what, Scott isn't sure.

“You made it!” he gasps out finally, false-starting two times before his friend comes out from behind his cover and rushes forward to him. He's bright and full of energy and Scott immediately is overcome with the urge to wrap him up and never let him go. He wants to smother the boy in his own scent and set his teeth to the back of his neck. He coughs awkwardly and tries his best to be subtle as he rearranges himself. “Scott. I-- he is me. I am Scott.” 

The other boy chuckles in delight and squirms in place, holding his hands behind his back and ducking his head before looking up through his lashes, something like demure. “Liam.” It's all he can get out before Scott is swooping in and stealing a kiss from his smiling lips-- licking against them soft and scraping his teeth against their plumpness. When Liam doesn't pull back, he lets his hands grasp the omega's waist and his fingers twitch and dance when they touch bare skin.

Liam sighs like he was just made whole again and leans into it all, arching his back to afford the best angle and wrapping his arms around Scott's neck-- twining his fingers in the messy mop of his hair. Scott's just starting to feel his heart-rate skip up as he humps their hips together on auto-pilot, smacking the sharp bones, when Liam's friend clears his throat and Derek snaps his fingers to get their attention.

Liam laughs again as he pulls away, but he keeps one hand on the back of Scott's neck, rubbing at the skin as he blushes. Scott smiles and he knows it comes out dopey and he knows everyone can tell he's hard enough to split logs right now, but none of that matters. “Oops,” he says without even a hint of apology.

“Ya, oops my ass. Like that wasn't what you were gunning for the second you sent that message. My name's Stiles-- in case you cared.” Liam's friend-- Stiles-- snips as he puts his hands on his hips and looks at them both with the most casually judgmental stare Scott has seen on anyone that isn't a Hale.

“No need to snap at him. It was _your_ friend that practically threw himself at Scott.” And there's Derek, making just as good a first impression as always. 

Stiles absolutely bristles and his eyes glow as he grinds his jaw. Well, Scott got to kiss his omega. At least that went his way before this all blew to shit. He's just about to turn tail and run, dragging Liam along with him, when the boy steps away from his side with raised hands and a disappointed frown on his face. “Stiles, you said you were gonna play nice. You really want to prove you're better than all the names they call us? Be the bigger man.”

At that, they both roll their eyes and scoff, but step off of each other for the moment. And holy fuck, if that expert placating gesture didn't just turn Scott on. He's  _ never  _ been able to mollify Derek like that. His face must be showing his pleasure-- or it's possible his dick might be doing all the talking-- either way, Liam is smirking in the most adorably braggy kind of way when he turns around. 

There's no way in hell Scott can keep himself from scooping that boy up and shoving his tongue in his mouth, so he doesn't even try. Liam gasps in surprise when Scott rushes forward and picks him up, straight off the ground, and he uses that opportunity to dive right in and map the omega's mouth from teeth to tonsil. He tastes like lavender milk and smells like rosemary and Scott is breathing heavy and grinding his erection into the boy's ass before they've so much as said hello. 

It's perfect.

Liam just mewls beneath his ministrations and wriggles happily inside his arms as he bites on Scott's tongue lightly and holds tight to him with thick, strong thighs wrapped around his torso. It doesn't take but a minute before his light, airy scent starts to grow thick and mulled and Scott's chest starts heaving as this new note starts to permeate the air.

“Bleych, really? I thought this was just supposed to be a meet-up Scott?” Derek only sounds half as angry as he should be and Scott knows exactly why. His own blood is starting to heat up, but as it simmers and vibrates, it feels like it's singing in his veins. _This_ is what it's all about. Scott only hums in reply as he slowly starts to lower himself into a crouch, to his knees, lays Liam out before him and stares into this magnificent creature's hungry face. 

There is nothing but want and enthusiastic consent there, but he calms himself enough to breathe normally, pet that sweet face, and say, “Is this alright?”

Liam bites his lip and gets a moment of hesitation in his eye-- turning his head to look out at Stiles with question. His bondmate kicks at the ground and chews at his cuticles, but his eyes are soft and there's a sort of defeat in his shoulders. Stiles nods and Liam turns back to Scott with a grin on his face. “Yes, please!”

That's all it takes to let loose a flood of warmth that gushes from Scott's heart, limbers up his limbs, sets his stomach aflutter, and then pools in his groin. “I'm going to make you feel so good,” he murmurs, rubbing the bridge of his nose all along Liam's jaw and then down his throat. “I'm gonna lock my knot inside you and bind your body to me.”

He works one of his arms below the small of Liam's back to hold the boy tight against him, while the other pushes up his t-shirt to expose his soft belly and his pink, attentive nipples. Scott's brows draw in overwhelmed sensation and he makes a soft noise of wonder before he leans down and nips at one of the perked peaks, tugging it between his teeth before he lets it go. Liam whines beneath the attention and Scott hears a small gasp beside them when he does it.

He can't find it in himself to look away, but his body wracks with a shiver when Stiles' deep voice floats into his ear from much closer than it was before. “He likes that-- wants pups when he gets older. He hasn't been able to produce much milk without an alpha around, but he loves it when you drink. Squirts so pretty and clamps his little cunt tight.”

Scott is suddenly floored-- completely unprepared for the information being fed to him-- especially from this particular source. Derek and Jackson had said things, they'd learned about the omega bond briefly in class, but he thought they'd blown it all out of proportion. Did they really-- had Stiles really-- was this really happening to him?

Derek scoffs loudly and chucks a rock off the ravine, trying his best to sound unaffected through it all and failing. Though his smugness comes through just fine. “You _ would  _ know, wouldn't you?” Scott shakes his head a little to try and parse out just what that means, but before he can get his stupor to clear, Derek is barreling right along. “Leave Scott alone and let him have his first time how he wants. He doesn't need some whore to coach him through it and make him uncomfortable.” 

Liam immediately starts growling beneath him and Scott is lost in sex and shock, but it would seem Stiles doesn't need his protection much anyway. “Ah, yes. If I'm the whore then you must be the Madonna. So chaste, so pure. You'd probably cut your dick off if it wasn't the only thing that made you special. Wouldn't want to be just another prude now would we?” Stiles sneers as Derek rankles and his whole face pinches off. “Run along and be useless elsewhere-- you can spread your vitriol to the mindless masses that actually give a fuck about your sixteenth century views.  _ You're irrelevant. _ ”

And with that, Stiles calmly turns back to where Scott is still laying between Liam's spread legs and he takes the alpha's face in his hands. With a little moan, he kisses Scott's lips and opens them up beneath a clever tongue, holding his jaw open as he flits inside and teases enough to get him good and riled again. He scrapes his teeth along Scott's crooked chin, making him go cross-eyed to follow the movement, and then smiles as he ushers him back to Liam's tits.

Scott only goes too happily and starts to suckle on the tight, pebbled flesh as he feels Stiles' hands roam his back, pulling up the shirt to smooth over the skin, before his lips sink into the dimples just above his ass and that tongue goes back to work. Scott whimpers himself as he thrusts his butt into Stiles' chuckling face and starts moving down to Liam's soft stomach just as the boy's nipples start to rub red and he squirms from over stimulation.

That humid, thick, tangy smell has doubled now and Scott can taste it on the back of his tongue as both omegas start to hum around him and when Liam rolls his hips as Scott bites at the rim of his navel, he finally catches on to what it is. He groans, low and wrecked as he lifts his head away just enough to look down into the spread of Liam's jeans and sees the damp patch soaked into the seat of his jeans. Slick. They're starting to get wet.

Scott's eyes flicker up to look to Liam's for permission, but the omega's are closed and his face is twisted in this look of need. It makes his knot start to swell and Scott's breath hitches before he rams his face forward and just smashes it against the harsh friction of the denim, straining against his own pants as the smell soaks into his skin and he licks and sucks at the secretions already there.

Stiles slithers up his back and kisses at his shoulders, humming in approval and reaching his hands around to hug Scott tight and grope at his pecs. Fuck! “That's right, just like that. Liam loves to be eaten out, don't you baby?” Liam nods furiously as he squirms and writhes and makes pouty noises-- arching his hips off the ground. “He likes it when you nibble on his cunt and lick him loose and sloppy. He likes to come in your mouth-- likes to make you swallow it down so your breath smells like slick for hours. He's wet and hot like a sauna and he wants your alpha cock.” Stiles bites Scott's shoulder harshly just as he gropes at the crotch of his jeans and makes Scott cry out like he's dying. 

With a roar, Stiles' weight is suddenly tossed off of him and Scott can't bring himself to tear his face away from this humid heat, but he can see in his periphery, Stiles' smirk just before it's parted by the swollen, hooded tip of Derek's cock. He swallows the length down expertly, and his eyes roll in bliss and Derek practically sobs as he starts to fuck into the cavern. Well, shit.

Liam fusses beneath Scott as he continues to nose around his ass and happily slurp at his soaked jeans, holding his meaty thighs open with firm hands and fucking his erection against the cold ground. He could stay like this forever, could be happy right here between this omega's legs, could subsist on the sweet ambrosia that wells forth from his pink pussy like lifewater.

But it would seem like Liam is not so content, as he pushes Scott's head away, even as the alpha whines, and bats him on the nose when he tries to pull him back. Chastised, Scott sits back on his haunches as Liam sits up and toes off his shoes, wriggles out of his jeans and boxers, and tosses them away. Scott jumps a little, eager to get back in, and is swatted again. He pouts.

Liam calmly ruffles around in his discarded pants pocket for a second and produces a tiny, white pill, that he swallows down dry and makes bitter faces at afterwards. Scott knows now not to move until he's told to, so even as Liam scoots away from him, he remains patient. The boy moves over to where Derek is still completely clothed-- his pants and briefs just pulled down beneath his balls and his hairy ass as he grunts and wheezes-- holding himself steady over Stiles' head as he pumps rhythmically inside the boy's mouth.

His ears twitch as he hears Liam scuffle over the loose gravel and he turns his torso just far enough to catch the boy parting Stiles' milky thighs and brushing at the thicket of hair keeping Scott from seeing that moist, pink opening that Liam has been flashing him ever since he disrobed. Derek growls in warning and snaps at Liam, but Liam doesn't seem deterred in the least, fingers of one hand rolling Stiles' small balls while the others finally start to slide across the bright, flushed rim at the core of the omega.

Scott trounces over immediately, even without being invited, and bares his teeth right back, going as far as to bark at Derek when he does not let up. Liam seems utterly unconcerned as he gets on his knees and snuffles forward to start mouthing at the plump, turgid length of Stiles' small cock while his fingers continue to work. Derek's starting to leave the warmth of Stiles' mouth, turning with murder in his eyes, before he suddenly yelps and hunches back around Stiles' face-- back rigid and ass muscles twitching.

Scott's brows furrow in confusion before he can move around to an angle where he sees Derek's swollen low-hangers grasped tightly in the claw of Stiles' hand and pulled roughly further down than they usually stretch. Derek tries to pull away and Stiles gives him slack, but when he starts to turn towards Liam again, the omega yanks and Derek yips in pain again. Scott would be affronted if it were anyone but Derek, but he can see Stiles isn't being unnecessarily cruel, and honestly, the guy could use to be taken down a peg. 

So Scott just saunters back to where Liam is now happily bobbing up and down on his bondmate's dick and scissoring him open with shiny fingers. His ass is wiggling happily into the air, and when Scott hesitates, he throws a look over his shoulder as though to ask, 'what are you waiting for?'

Scott grins as he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up into his armpits and behind his head before dropping his jeans and revealing that he's been commando this whole time. Hey, if Derek actually caved and gave him the go ahead, he wanted to be ready and able to choke some roosters before he changed his mind. Liam gives an appreciative purr at the sight of Scott's long, crooked cock-- the shaft of it curving at the midpoint for a mean hook. He's always wondered if it's weird that it bends the same way as his chin...

It doesn't seem to matter much the second Liam's ass makes a wet pop and Scott's looks down to see it gaping at him-- the tender insides convulsing beneath his gaze. He falls to his knees without any further prompting and kneads the globes of Liam's bubble butt, admiring their smooth softness and watching in fascination as rivulets of semi-translucent, iridescent liquid pool at the red rim before the muscle puckers and makes it run down different paths along his taint and ballsack, the crease of his thighs, the meat of them.

It makes Scott's balls throb and ache in want and they tap against his own thighs as they twitch. Scott wants nothing more than to just grip the base of his slender, if lank, cock and drive it right home, but he remembers what Stiles' said just before his mouth became otherwise occupied and he leans forward to kiss at that gorgeous, mesmerizing ass that he's been dreaming of for so long.

Slick squishes and squelches against his chin and in his nose, but it only serves to make him groan as he rams his tongue straight inside to lap at those fluttering walls like a dog. Liam bucks in surprise and clenches around him-- his instinct being to pull the intrusion further inside and Scott whimpers as his tongue is stretched. His hands slap against the outside of Liam's thighs to try and support himself as he closes his eyes and just  _ devours  _ the flesh in front of him. 

He doesn't care if it's crude or if it lack finesse or if he looks like a rut-rotted animal. He sucks and slurps and drags his tongue flat down the entire length of the crack of Liam's ass as he makes the boy gush with pleasure and sloppy with want. He's got saliva and slick across his chin and his cheeks and somehow cooling on his forehead, and Liam's thighs are shaking under his touch.

The air is thick enough to choke on around them and Scott feels like a fever is burning his whole body from the inside out. Eventually his jaw tires and his tongue grows sore and Liam has stretched so there is no grip on the thrust of his lick. So, reluctantly, Scott pulls away to look at his dirty work, and his heart clenches at the sight. Liam's gape no longer has to be made in effort and his whole backside now shines with the almost-rainbow of his juices.

It is a sight to be seen and Scott growls in pleasure as he leans forward one last time to set his teeth to the pliant ring of muscles he has to tenderly tended to. With the utmost care, he clenches down on the puffy flesh and slides his teeth to rotate it between them. With a sudden, wailing cry, Liam's whole body starts convulsing and before Scott can register what it means, liquid is squirting in spattering showers into his eyes and in his mouth and on his cheeks and a vicious inferno of pride tears through him as his omega skunks him.

When Scott pulls back to wipe the cum from his eyes, Liam collapses his head onto Stiles' belly, breathing heavily even as he keeps his ass pointed firmly in the air. Scott laughs and smiles and bends down to kiss one of his jiggly cheeks before scooting forward to line himself up. One of his thumbs holds Liam's ass apart while the other hooks to the head of his dick and pulls it against the bend to press at the still-quivering entrance.

Scott waits before he sinks inside to look at Liam for permission again and the boy laughs delightedly as he nods his head before he goes back to licking the creases of Stiles' thighs and sucking at his balls. Scott feels his whole stomach swoop right before he ushers his hips forward and he can't keep himself from gouging his nails into Liam's skin while his own ass clenches and the small of his back cramps to keep him from just ramming inside.

Stiles undersold this. Liam is fucking  _ sweltering  _ inside and Scott swears his can feel slick drip onto him from those inner walls. Liam's muscles do all the work as they suck Scott deeper and deeper until he's seated with is mangy curl of pubes snug at the base of Liam's ass. His chest heaves arrhythmically as he practically bites through his lip in an effort not to come right then and there. 

His knot starts to swell rapidly and he quickly pulls it out before it can test the stretch of Liam's rim. The omega hooks his feet behind Scott's thighs and pistons himself back in direct response and Scott's eyes blow wide as his knot smashes and rams against the opening until it just  _ gives  _ and he pops inside. He feels like he's going to hyperventilate as sweat runs from his temples down to drip off his nose and even sting in his eyes. 

His whole stomach is convulsing as Scott whines and tries slowly, at first, and then more urgently to pull his knot free from the clutch of Liam's body, but it appears the squeeze past the rim was a one way trip. Liam's cunt is milking him for all he's worth and he doesn't think he's going to last much more than a few seconds. Not even the mortification from that is keeping his knot from swelling even bigger and more pleasure/painful.

Scott groans pitifully as he tries to name a baseball line-up and thinks of Harris and tries math equations in his head, but Liam has four of his fingers squelching lewdly inside Stiles as his bondmate quivers and comes all over his hand-- again and again and again-- and just above him, Derek's ass is cramped so tight, there's dimples in the cheeks as he tries to keep from collapsing and he can see the boy's ridiculously over-sized testicles convulsing in their sack in Stiles' hand as he empties years of teenaged blue balls down his throat.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Scott lets himself fall forward to plaster himself against Liam's back and wrap both is arms around the omega in a rib-crushing hug. He grinds his knot as hard and as deep as he can inside him and then just lets go as his eyes roll back in his head and his vision whites out as he comes. His whole body hums with electricity as the basest desire it contains is fulfilled and his muscles give out in relief.

Scott just breeded his mate.

 


	4. Derek

It's the sensation of small, insistent teeth at his collar that wakes Derek from the blackout slumber that he was in. He comes to slowly, swimming up from the groggy, blurry space where his sleep-heavy hands flop up to cup the back of a bristly head, and make the teeth grip just that much harder. It's soothing, somewhere deep down inside, and his chest rumbles in appreciation without his consent.

It's cold enough to make him shiver beneath his jacket and his brows furrow when he moves around a little and finds his ass to be completely bared to the wind. He groans in discomfort and fights to keep his eyes closed, but the more he squirms, the more he takes in about his current state. His balls are a pleasurable sort of sore, his ass is cramping, and his cock is wet and warm and sticky....

Derek sits up in a bolt as it all comes back to him in a rush and hisses when Stiles' teeth tear a little rip along his collar bone with their sudden removal. He stayed out past curfew, he's across boundary lines with an omega, he throat-fucked that little shit that smells like honey and oats and melting brown sugar.

His dick stirs at just the memory and he looks down at it with affronted betrayal. _Fuck_. His pubes are a goddamned mess and there's bite marks on his thighs. That stupid, fucking, amazing omega. He rubs his hands over his face harshly and takes a moment to try and breathe through the overwhelming stench of stale sex and looks over to get an eyeful of Scott's cock and balls smothered by a smooth hip and that Liam kid squirming in his arms and flashing Derek his wet, wrecked cunt.

He can't believe he did this. He participated in a goddamned _orgy._ He kind of wants to crawl up in a ball and die, and even moreso, he wants to stand at the edge of the ravine, show the world his stiff, used cock, and howl in triumph. Derek settles for letting himself gently turn Stiles over to trace his fingers over that small, plump, pink omega-dick that he just wants to get his mouth on, and even take a peek at the gorgeous, peek-a-boo cunt hidden beneath all that hair.

It makes him _ache_ to think he's not going to get to fill it. He wants to crawl inside Stiles' space right this second and wake him on the swell of his knot-- wants to watch his face as he realizes what's happening, feel his body relax around its alpha, its sire. The want, the _need_ is so intense that he feels like his chest is going to burst, but he doesn't dare do anything about it.

This is what he's always railing about, this is what terrifies him. Being around an omega is like succumbing to psychotropic drugs. Alphas and betas lose themselves to it-- become this mindless thrall that forgets everything they have ever wanted for themselves or been working for, in order to service the bitch's needs. It's an unhealthy dynamic and one that he wants nothing to do with. He's not gonna lose himself just for a quick fuck-- no way.

His heart throbs painfully up in his throat as he lifts his ass off the ground to pull up his jeans and zipper them around his morning chub, and he digs his claws into the ground in frustration afterwards. The dirt cakes up in his nails as he tries to anchor himself down, but he can't keep from leaning over to kiss those clever, crude, cute lips and nibble them softly.

Maybe-- maybe he can turn this situation around. Maybe _he_ can own it. If he meets Stiles on his terms, if he makes sure this is nothing more than a casual fling. Everyone needs an outlet and most of the alphas in his class use a cunt to do it-- whether it's synthetic or not. Maybe it's the smart thing to do to scratch his name and number into the dirt before he gets up and walks over towards Scott.

Derek tries not to think too much about it as he shakes his best friend's shoulder and tosses him his tacky boxers when his eyes flutter open. Scott lets out a long, low groan and starts to mumble and mutter before Derek can hurriedly, harshly shush him. “ _Shut the fuck up, man!”_ He clamps his hand over Scott's mouth and glares down at him. “We need to get home before we got caught and handed over to ABO affairs. So slip your cock out of your bitch and lets get going!”

Scott squints his eyes hard at Derek and bites the middle of his palm viciously, thrashing at the meat. “Don't you _dare_ call him that. Liam is my mate and you'll respect him or I'll tear your dick off with my teeth.” Scott's breathing heavily and his arms are wrapped tight around the small omega that's fussing against his chest, mouth working as though its searching for a nipple. Derek's eyes bug out when they find just that and start to suckle.

He's never seen Scott get like that before, not even when they roared at each other in the midst of their heats and tried to battle for dominance and the right to fuck the other. It's-- it's awe-inspiring. Carefully, Derek scoots back and raises his hands in compliance, watching, enraptured, as he friend soothes his hands down his omega's back and kisses his temple sweetly.

The tenderness and reverence so plain on his face honestly astounds Derek and he can't do anything but gape as Scott levers himself out from under Liam carefully, tucks his own shirt underneath the boy's head as a pillow, folds his boxers and tucks them into his hand as a pretty ridiculous love token, and kisses from his neck to his shoulders, back, ass, cunt, knees, and feet, before standing and yanking on his jeans.

He whispers something into Liam's ear and smiles softly, running his fingers through the boy's hair, before skipping over to Derek. He smiles like a loon and even has a hint of boyish charm sparking in his eyes. It's stupidly endearing. “Are you sure you didn't want to leave Stiles something too? I know tighty-whities don't exactly paint you in the best light--” he quirks his brows like he's caught Derek out on something and looks incredibly smug.

Derek scoffs as he scuffs his boots through the dirt beside Stiles, rubbing out the letters and numbers before Scott could see. “Whatever. I didn't have some magical, mystical _mating moment_ like you two. I fucked his throat so the little shit would shut the hell up. It was your own fault for bringing me here.” Derek wraps his arm around Scott's naked back to start ushering him to walk, eager to be leaving the scene of the crime behind.

“Oh, c'mon Derek. Stop putting up this stoneman front! I can see it on your face-- it's killing you to walk away from him. I bet you want to run back right this second and cuddle the shit out of him. And I _know_ you were jealous when Liam ate him out and sucked him off. I almost had to tackle you down-- until, well...” Scott's grin turns absolutely shit-eating and Derek flushes from his head to his feet.

“Don't even! We are never going to talk about this and we're both going to pretend like we never had group sex together, deal?” Derek self-consciously turns his hips away as he adjusts his balls through his jeans and whimpers. They're gonna be sore for days and he doesn't know why that thought makes his heart melt and his cock harden.

“Naw, nope! I don't accept that, dude. Your ass was rockin' and you were a total _beast_! We're definitely doing it again, and maybe next time we can make out while we each fuck our boys. You know, like side-by-side so we can watch each other's moves and talk tips and tricks.” Scott says this completely seriously, because he somehow doesn't know how ludicrous he sounds and Derek pushes him away roughly by the scruff of his neck.

“C'mon, at least admit it-- Stiles is perfect for you. He's stubborn and kinda mean and likes to push people's buttons. You were totally made for each other! It's like a rom-com-- but instead of the omega being stuffy and saving himself for matehood while the alpha dogs after his sweet pussy, it's totally the other way around. Stiles is totally thirsting after your knot and you want to give it to him so bad you're practically vibrating!” Scott punches his shoulder and dances around him happily. “You've got it so bad man, you wanna pump him full of babies and suck his milky titties.”

Derek doesn't dignify that with a response and instead just growls until Scott shuts up-- though he can't keep him from humming obnoxiously. The closer they get to the car and therefore to home, the less relief he feels and the more he wishes they could turn back. Derek would never tell anyone, but it makes him sick that Stiles isn't going to have his number.

He's such a fuck-up.

* * *

 

Derek tells himself that he's doing this just to get Scott off his back. The boy has been insufferable ever since that first night-- always mooning about Liam this, omega that, and how Derek should just call Stiles because everyone could use a mate in their life. Really, it's nauseating and not even the slightest bit adorable how laid-back and sweet Scott is these days.

Despite Derek's warnings and staunch misgivings, Scott insists on sending Liam small presents by beta smugglers every other day and receives the strangest collection of things in turn. Personal pies baked from scratch, love letters, trinkets and baubles as love tokens, and even once-- quite memorably-- one of Liam's lubrication liners, the thick cushion of silken fabric soaked through with his juices, unwashed for days probably.

Derek pretends like just the idea of it doesn't have him painfully hard beneath his jeans and dutifully stands watch outside a less-used boy's bathroom as Scott rubs it around his knot and fucks a load into the already sopping fabric. It's totally vile, really. That's why Derek's stomach was doing somersaults as he listened to Scott groan and whimper while he spanked it.

If it had been anyone but Scott, Derek would have described his current, inexorable behavior as smug, but he really just doesn't think his friend is capable of that. He _wants_ to call it cunt-control-- that recently rejected notion that omegas practically enslaved their mates through pheromones-- but Scott has been more energetic and productive than ever before. He's scoring more goals in lacrosse, getting higher grades in class, and is chipper and polite to everyone that he sees.

It's... disturbing. Derek doesn't know what to make of it. He wants to be upset and can't find the justification for it, which just makes him more frustrated and angry than he was before. Scott getting himself a mate has been the single most miserable experience of his life.

Which is why he's hunkered over his laptop in room, checking over his shoulder constantly, feeling like he's looking at porn, as he signs into his Alpha4Omega account by himself for the very first time. There's no profile pic-- just a grey, generic head, and Scott has filled in about twenty percent of his account information just by guesses, or questions he asked Derek under false pretenses.

The boxes about likes and dislikes and wants and preferences are woefully empty and he feels like a total idiot just looking at it. He doesn't have a “type”, he has no idea why anyone would need to know the three things he'd take with him to a deserted island, or how it's any of their business what his past sexual history is! He blushes deep and feels his whole body shiver with heat at just the memory of his first, and only experience, and he huffs as he grinds the heel of his palm into his crotch to try and mitigate the arousal.

He's not doing any of this because of Stiles, no way. That little shit almost took his virginity and he's-- he's mad about it. Mad for sure. Who does that? Who just sucks down a stranger's cock and twists his balls and... spoons him through the night. Derek sullenly picks at the scabs he let form over the bite Stiles left against his collarbone, itching at the little wound he won't let heal. It's a reminder... to do better.

He let his guard down just once, just for a second, and this is what it earned him. If he takes Scott up on this ridiculous proposal to join the site, then he can rid his downtime of the badgering about it and just say that no fish have bit his hook. Then he can focus on the more important things, like Heat Week coming up, the basketball championships, finals.

He has to get his head back in the game and out from these clouds where he's imagining Stiles curled up beside him-- sleep groggy and mewling as Derek palms that tiny omega cock and watches as it dribbles its meager spunk across his wrist. That's an idea that only belongs in the shower in the morning, and only for the three minute it takes to empty himself out and get on with the day.

So he fills out the questionnaires as succinctly as he can, uploads a generic triskele as his avatar, and labors over a stupid fucking screenname. It takes twenty minutes, several smacks of his head against his desk, and a call to Scott to ask what the hell role-playing means in this context, but he gets a full sentence in every single required field and his profile posted to that endless void.

Derek Hale may have shut himself down for business, but apparently **DarcyWasAFool** is just getting started.

* * *

 

Honestly, he's dreading their arrival at school. The weekend gave Derek enough time to compartmentalize everything that happened to him and work up a good enough sense of denial. He's been getting the occasional message from A4O, but almost all of them have been of red, raw cunts between asscheeks with razorburn bumps and that's just a whole level of disturbing that he wasn't prepared for.

He wants to leave it all behind and pretend like his life hasn't changed in the slightest, but every time he goes to get rid of his profile or delete the app, he gets frozen in the moment. He sits with his thumb hovering over the icon and thinks about Stiles' stupid smirk from below him, somehow looking like he had the high ground even with eight inches of cock in his mouth, and how it made his chest flutter. It infuriates him, and yet even that has this strange rose-tint that has his fuming and wanting nothing more than to find Stiles, tackle him down and shut him up again.

But that doesn't feel like it would be a victory, it feels like exactly what the omega wants him to do. He'd sucked Derek's cum back like it was cake frosting and dug his tongue in the slit, trying to get more. Somehow, Derek doesn't imagine that he'd be all that angry at being given another dose.

Somehow, even as much as Derek thinks about popping his knot in that sweet, sweet ass, he thinks about kissing those swollen lips, rubbing his hand over that soft belly, teasing milk out those puffy tits even more. He thinks about using his strength to show Stiles that he could be sheltered, and swaddling the reedy thing in so many blankets that the alluring shape of his body is lost in them. He wants to _hold Stiles'_ hand for godssake.

Meanwhile, it all just serves to make him feel crazy, because Scott is smiling and whistling and high-fiving strangers in the hall and Derek wants to be doing the same so badly, it embarrasses him. So he got his dick wet over the weekend, so what? He doesn't get why the whole school has to revolve around who's fucking who but it's all anyone is interested in, and Scott in his endless need to be loved by everyone, is seeing that as an opportunity.

Before Derek even realizes it, before he can think of a way to distract or mollify or just _stop_ him, Scott is sitting up on the top of his desk, waving to the class, and all-out grinning as he says, “Derek and I made love to the most beautiful omegas in the world this weekend!” like he's announcing the cure for cancer has been discovered. A whole chorus of hoots and hollers and cheers ring out across the room and Scott blushes like a bride being ushered out of the chapel as he ducks his head and nods along with them.

Derek just groans and buries his face in his folded arms, wishing the floor would swallow him up. He'd rather be chatting with that seventeen year old mother of two that sent him dick pics this morning than here! And it only gets worse as he hears the all too familiar smug-ass chuckle of Jackson Whittemore as he approaches them both. “Who would've thought-- spam for brains and the father of abstinence getting their meat milked outside of town boundaries. Sounds like an orgy too. Did I miss a Nut-Busters alert? If I'd known some omega cum-buckets were being set up on the edges of town, I would've thrown my spooge in the ring to try and sire some pups. ABO affairs pays shit loads in compensation for people that take ownership over gangbang bastards.”

Derek looks up to give Jackson a look-- letting him know just exactly how disgusting he finds him-- before Scott has his Hulk moment and rages out on him. “They weren't some roving, feral omegas desperate for pack, you raging fart rag--” Scott really needed to learn how to curse. Derek should teach him the next time they're staring at each other while their dicks are in other people. Kill two incredibly uncomfortable birds with one stone. “-- Liam's my mate and Stiles and Derek will work things out soon enough. You should've seen how into each other they were, there's no avoiding a connection like that.”

Derek's eyes bug out of his head immediately and he reaches over to slap Scott hard on the shoulder, glaring at him when he just gets a confused, “What?” and puppy dog eyes in return. Meanwhile, Jackson has gone completely rigid in his seat and the amused, arrogant look has disappeared from his face. It goes pale enough that the freckles across his nose and cheeks seem twice as dark as usual and his adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

Just as fast as the happiness left, anger boils right over him and he turns a hideous red with it as he leans over the desks and jabs at the air with a pointed finger. “You can go ahead and have that raging slutbag, but let me tell you, you better get a bitch like that tagged and collared. Come Heat Week he'll be offering his sloppy, nasty cunt to anything with balls and your litter will have five different pups from four different dads. He'll leave you for the first guy with a bigger cock and a hairier ass so you ought to keep him locked up, Hale. Wouldn't want to make a cuckold out of yourself after the shotgun wedding where he drops his mutts right on the altar.”

Jackson yanks his bag up off the floor with a vicious movement and swings it over his shoulder as he turns around and storms right out of the classroom without looking back. Scott's still sitting on the desk with his mouth open and the same look Derek imagines he must have had when his mom told him Santa wasn't real-- except maybe with the addition that Santa had been fucking her too.

Derek just clenches and unclenches his sweaty hands as he sits back silently and his stomach gurgles like he's gonna be sick. Jackson's always been... a character and a known exaggerator, but-- but that rage was genuine, and he had smelled kind of like sex last week when he claimed to have had that encounter with Stiles.

Was Stiles really that kind of omega? Was he one of the people that posted to places like Nut-Busters-- offering to put himself in a stockade and letting any alpha or beta that wanted him pump their loads into his ripe pussy raw and without suppressants? Did he just want to skate by in life by using his body to get benefits and always make sure that he would be taken care of by some poor guy that was so hard up, he'd do anything for a hot hole to fuck in?

He'd been considering all this weekend that maybe he'd been wrong, that maybe taking a mate was different than what he thought it was. He'd almost let himself want Stiles and a life with him.

What a fuck-up.

* * *

 

The week goes by torturously slow and Derek feels completely on edge for every, godforsaken hour of it. Scott's annoyingly chipper and getting off so frequently his hands never stop smelling like spunk, Stiles is completely and utterly absent-- which somehow only makes all of this worse, because he should be swooning or seething or _anything_ but this overwhelming nothing-- he hasn't even tried to get anything through the network to Derek, even though Scott gets care packages like he was in a bad car accident, and not actually having the time of his life.

And to top it all off, Jackson's spent the whole time either looming or sulking, both of which make Derek feel like a total ass. Jackson may be one of the least tolerable people in the world, but it's obvious to everyone in Beacon Hills, but him, that it's because he's insecure and lonely and desperate for affection. So what did Derek do? He took that poor kid's only prospect out back and... well, fucked him in the mouth.

Somehow he feels like the bad guy in this story, especially every time Scott attempts to subtly drop the hint that Liam says Stiles has been asking about him. Because he doubts it. That little shit was just as anti-alpha as he is anti-omega and the only reason they hooked up was so Stiles could prove a point-- which he did by yanking Derek's balls so hard they're still a little bit sore.

Never mind that that's probably because Derek yokes them unrelentingly in the shower every morning, finding that he gets off faster and harder than he ever had before. Ball play wasn't even a thing he thought existed-- they were always just there, getting in the way sometimes when he sat on them or had to wrangle them inside a cup and jockstrap-- but now he doesn't think he'll ever be able to come without hefting them in his palm and squeezing on the sack and rolling the generous globes between his fingers.

His life is shit and it's all Stiles' fault and he feels like he'd probably kill him the next time they met, if he didn't want to kiss him so badly. How is that a thing that's even possible? Sometimes his arms actually, physically shake with the want to tackle and strangle him, but that just makes Derek breathless and hard and wishing it were the next day already so he could hop in the shower, go through the pretense of soaping himself up, and then spend his entire self-allotted twenty minutes playing with his foreskin and balls until he spatters so much cum down the drain it clogs for a full minute.

That's gotta say something about the kind of headspace an omega puts him in. It can't be healthy to be thinking these things and feeling this way! He already smells like a dirty sock every day because he can't manage to actually, properly wash himself while he's in the shower-- how far does this slippery slope slide? Today it's only paying ten percent of the attention to personal hygiene that a teenager should, tomorrow it could be crossing the borders with rut-rot addling his brain and looking to breed Stiles while leaving bruises on his silken skin.

Scott calls him ridiculous and tells him to just answer any of the omegas that have been messaging him online, if he really doesn't think he can handle Stiles, but that feels so back-alley shady. Even worse than meeting the two of them on the preserve, this feels like he's renting a hooker-- actually, actively going out to break the laws and search for sex. Which prompts Scott to ask if Derek broke into the weed stash he keeps in a shoe-box under the bed, right next to the fleshlight Derek gifted to him for Christmas as a joke/comment on Scott's brithday present to him earlier in the year (because 'the spunk covers up the pot skunk, dude! It's totally genius') and took a few too many tokes to try and calm down.

Derek has to assure him that he'd never do something so banal, and even then, Scott is giving him the stink eye as he says that Derek better not have-- that he's saving it for when he's sneaking Liam over the border this weekend. They're gonna shotgun and Scott's gonna take his time eating him out while they sixty-nine. Supposedly it's romantic. Derek pretends like it's not exactly what he wishes he were doing come Saturday. Minus the weed. Plus some pasta carbonara. And a viewing of The Princess Bride. He and Stiles could eat out of the same bowl as Derek whispers 'As you wish,' into his ear and idly fingers his own cum out of Stiles' hole with his free hand.

It feels like rock bottom.

* * *

 

Sometimes Derek wants to laugh at himself-- at how consistently and terribly wrong he can be. _This_ is one of those times, though this might honestly just be the green giggles. In fact, it definitely has to be, because he's sitting on Scott's bed in nothing but his briefs as he spits a little from trying to hold back laughs, his best friend licking at the scab he hasn't let go of yet. Scott's in his boxers too and his soft dick is lolling out the slit-- dark and salty smelling and warm.

Derek can't help but smile as he reaches out and flops the head around with his fingers, petting at the slit. It's so petal-soft and precious. Not the same as Stiles' unbearably pretty dick-- bigger and darker and the head is a little lumpy, misshapen. “You've got a nice dick Scott, a real, real nice one. I've always thought it, but never wanted to say.” _This_ is rock bottom.

And if there was ever, just a moment for any doubt, it goes out the door when Liam saunters in with an armful of pudding packs, butt-naked and smiling. “You guys better not be starting without me. I didn't go through all the trouble of sneaking myself over here, just so I could watch you fiddle with each other... though I definitely wouldn't mind a bit of a show.” The omega blushes at his own words and Derek can smell him start to get dewy between his cheeks. “You see all kinds of omega bondmate porn where they fuck each other with ludicrous things like cucumbers. I wanna see some horny alpha boys rubbing their knots together as they dp a watermelon or something.”

Scott giggles and bats Derek's hand away, scooting back to make room for his mate on the bed. He's smiling like the sun is shining out of Liam's cunt and Derek just huffs in affront. “They don't make that kind of porn because it's not real life. Unlike omegas, we don't have to cum all over everyone we see. Alphas are too territorial and competitive to fuck each other-- it would always be a dominance thing-- we're not each other's play toys.”

Liam squints his eyes over at Derek and scoffs as he hands him the spliff. “So now we know you're the kind of guy who gets mood swings from weed. And anyway, you really think those sleazy productions where the alpha comes home from a business trip and his omega has made up his home and bought flowers and made dinner and is waiting for him to grace his hole with his spunk is real?” Derek's jaw drops a little at the first sign of outward aggressiveness from Liam... ever, and the omega seems to realize it at the same time. “Woah, I sound just like Stiles.”

Scott's eyes get big and he makes an abortive hissing sound as he shakes his head and drags a finger across his throat, but it's already too late and Derek is groaning as he lays down and pillows his face against Liam's naked thigh while he takes another long, aching toke. “Ix-nay on the Iles-stay,” Scott keeps going anyway, jabbing Liam's in the ribs. “Derek gets sad when you talk about him. He's been bipolar about it all week. One day omegas are a blight on the earth, and the next he's watching Back to the Future like a rule book for fixing your life.”

Derek really wishes Scott were just a scoche more delicate about how he handled things, instead of just always charging through without a hint of subtlety, but alas, that's sort of what makes him so fun to hang around in the first place. He groans again as he raises the joint for someone else to take and turns to bury his face in Liam's crotch. It's very humid and boy smelling and he thinks he'll just stay here for a while. Someone's hand comes down to pet through his hair and he hears them open up a Snack Pack.

“Sorry! I didn't know he was off-limits. I thought you guys just didn't invite him because you knew he'd be all crazy about the pot, what with his dad being the sheriff and all. Never mind we can joy ride across the borders all the time for a little midnight adventuring-- asking around for a little weed to make your boyfriend some extra special brownies that are his favorite is somehow a thousand times worse.”

“Aww, babe! You were gonna make me some edibles?” Derek's face gets mashed against Liam's penis as the boy leans over and he and Scott start making out while cooing over each other and all he can find it in himself to do it pout about it, wriggling when he feels precum start to dot against his eyebrow. He turns to nip sharply at the crease of Liam's thigh when they don't part after a while and he starts to worry that he's going to suffocate-- half naked and with his face buried in an omega's groin.

“Ow! Sorry, sorry. I'm being a bad new friend.” Liam tugs on Derek's hair to get him to lift his face enough to see the other boy's and he smiles at him. “Tell me what I can do to help make it better. I don't know what rituals alphas usually have if they can't blow off steam with each other, but if you want, I'll let you and Scott eat pudding off my body and out of my hole.” Liam seems completely and utterly genuine, which is both horrifying and horrifyingly hot, and Derek can't help the way his dick twitches at the thought. “When-- he who shall not be named-- would get upset, he used to love to fill me up with honey and then have me sit on his face and just lick at me for like, an hour as it slowly dripped out. How's that sound?”

There's a clatter and a rustle of fabric off the side of them and when Derek turns his head to look, Scott it settling back on his haunches in nothing but his tube socks and jacking at the crook of his already half-hard dick, as a lamp rolls around on the floor. Derek rolls his eyes and does his best to pretend like he's not leisurely humping the mattress himself right now, wondering how much of a hypocrite it would make him to just give in and let this happen. Scott has been wanting to tag team with him since they were in middle school and Liam _is_ very attentive and attractive and... benign.

Scott is practically bouncing on his heels and it's making his ass jiggle and he has this hopeful look on his face like he might just get to see God today. So Derek makes a show of grumbling and grousing as he stands at the side of the bed, blushes and circles, hems and haws, fiddles with his waistband, and then closes his eyes as he pulls down his briefs, steps out of them, and tosses them across the room. “Isn't he beautiful? I told you he's got a body to die for. His dick's so big, it won't stay up against his stomach even when he's all the way hard. It just flops and dangles and isn't his foreskin just the most luscious color?”

When Derek opens his eyes, both boys are staring at him with a little bit of awe in their eyes and Scott is plastered to Liam's back, stroking his little dick in his hands, and whispering those mortifying words into his ear. It's equal parts flattering and super weird, and only Scott would be able to pull it off. How many other platonic friends would genuinely worship their bro's body as an extension of that guy? He's always trying to get Derek to be more carefree and outwardly happy and just comfortable in his own skin, and somehow that morphed into a very extensive physical attraction, separate from any romantic notions.

Scott tried to tell him that it was totally normal for dudes to want to get off with each other, but not want to _be together._ Derek insisted that it really wasn't and that sex always came with romantic overtures. There was no such thing as platonic best friends/fuckbuddies. The addition of Stiles and Liam in their lives was no help at all. It just made things all the more complicated as Liam had tried to explain that they weren't the love of each other's lives, but they still wanted to be together forever and always have a sexually intimate relationship. That seemed like the very definition of a romantic entanglement to Derek, but he insisted that it was different. They loved each other, but they weren't _in love._

It all just served to give him a headache and encouraged him to actually join in on the cannabis carousing for tonight. And now he's coming to kneel in front of an omega as Scott plays with his balls and teases at the glistening wetness that Derek can just see peeking out from between bubble cheeks. He's not entirely sure that tonight isn't just some fever dream-- that he didn't have a breakdown over Stiles earlier in the week and is actually in a hospital, hallucinating and sporting a raging hard-on while he's being hooked up to oxygen tanks. Or maybe he just conked out from the weed and Scott and Liam are having sex on top of his sleeping body and the sounds are permeating his dream.

Both seemed more likely than the fact that he was leaning forward, over Liam's shoulder, to take Scott's chin in his hand and slowly kissing his lips open so their tongues were teasing over each other and they could swallow one another's soft, pensive groans. Liam's breath stutters between them and Derek can smell him spurt out a gush of slick at their activity. It makes Derek's head spin almost pleasantly and fills the room with a burst of pungent spice-- something like cloves.

Scott groans when it hits his nose and bites Derek's tongue-- that teasing hand abandoning all pretense and his fingers scrambling to part the bottom of Liam's ample ass cheeks so they can slide around in the generous warmth. Liam mewls happily and Derek can't help but pull away to sit and stare at that little, red entrance as the blunt ends of Scott's fingers circle the rim and just tease at stretching it, catching on the muscle and testing the resistance before skating away.

“You want in, dude?” Scott asks him huskily, eyes straying to where precum has started to bead and drip from the folds of Derek's foreskin. “It's okay. Go ahead, he likes it.” Liam nods along and scoots forward so he's laying more on his lower back and his ass is on display for Derek. “C'mon, help me stretch him open.” Derek's heart starts thundering in his ears and he blushes as he clears his throat over and over again before he reaches out with shaky hands and just pushes his index smack-dab in the center of Liam's pucker-- like it were a button on a console.

Both Liam and Scott chuckle at him and share a look and Derek huffs indignantly as he furrows his brow and glares back. Scott's slippery, sticky fingers reach out to twine with Derek's and he lays their palms right on top of each other as he guides Derek's fingers in those swirling motions-- patient and gentle and letting Derek feel what makes the muscle jump beneath him and what makes Liam's thighs quiver and what makes his breath catch. It's like Ghost but instead of going through the beleaguered sensual clay molding, they're being blunt about it and finger-banging someone in tandem.

Derek and Scott slowly lean into each other again the longer they're at it, both trying to watch as close as possible as Liam starts to open beneath their administrations and that warm puffiness starts to go molten and pliant. Their foreheads are touching and they're breathing in each other's recycled air when Derek is the first one to slip inside and he audibly gasps as he feels that muscle pull at him to try and suck him deeper. Liam moans and throws his arms up and around Scott's neck while Derek just balks and watches as the opening works like a little mouth around him and suckles at the intrusion. Scott's fingers come to stroke the exposed portion of Derek's digit while Liam's insides massage the rest and he can't keep himself from shuddering.

“Fuck!” Scott curses, and Derek whips his head up to look at his usually reticent friend, a little shocked at hearing the word finally come tumbling out his mouth. “I wanna see him milk your dick.” Derek's eyes bug out at the heated admittance and he stammers as Liam groans and bares down and sucks him down all the way to his third knuckle. “You two look so good together.” His eyes start to smolder a deep, burnt orange-- almost all the way to alpha red and Derek's stomach tumbles at the thought.

Alphas usually hate to share-- from meals to praise and certainly extending towards sexual partners-- the competitive instinct is just too strong while they're so swamped with hormones and often long after. But Scott-- he's gonna pass his second Examination easy. The boy has no issue seeing past his instincts towards what he wants in his heart, and Derek finds himself exceedingly jealous for just a moment.

Once the angry heat and a misplaced sense of betrayal flood through his system, all he's left feeling is happy for someone that deserves the best sort of life available to him. There's no one Derek would rather wish this for and he twists the blankets under his hands as he rushes forward to kiss Scott deeply and hungrily, pressing the other boy down beneath his body and making him lay back in the same position as Liam.

Derek feels hard as diamonds as Scott just sinks below him with a groan and he picks his left hand up to scratch down Scott's flat stomach before he takes his cock in hand and starts to pump it through his fist. Scott's knot immediately starts to swell and engorge at the root and his friend starts to squirm as Derek's passion doesn't die down or temper. Liam writhes between them, mewling and whimpering as Scott and Derek take turns adding fingers-- one after the other until they both have three up inside him and are tangling them as they push at the rim.

Derek's own knot pops suddenly and almost painfully when Liam reaches behind him to grab a generous handful of his ass and grope, ushering Derek farther forward so he's bracing himself with his arms on either side of Scott and his erection is dragging against Liam's hip. Liam groans and his brows knit together and he squirms and whines at being trapped between two alphas. All three of them freeze when a new scent spills into the room and both Scott and Derek back away to look down where pearly liquid has started to bead on Liam's nipples.

Derek's stopped breathing while Scott has kicked into almost hyperventilation as he takes his fingers out of Liam's dripping cunt to pinch at a nipple-- milk soaking into the tips and running down their length. He raises his hands to the light and Derek feels his whole body scream with want-- need. He jerks forward to uptake Scott's wet fingers into his mouth and sucks and bites ravenously-- licking up all the milk and slick like he's starving for it while the other two stare.

When Derek opens his eyes to look at them, he locks eyes with Scott and the boy whimpers like he's been hit in the gut before thick gouts of cum spray out of his cock and start splattering the bottom of his chin. Liam whines and struggles to turn around beneath Derek's body, yearning and stretching to start lapping up the viscous fluid. His eyes cross and flutter closed and he gets the semen all over his own face in his eagerness.

Slowly, cautiously, almost scared, Derek looms forward while keeping his eyes locked with Scott and starts to share with the impatient omega beneath him-- their lips and tongues overlapping as they clean Scott from face to sternum. Eventually the devolve to just making out on top of him as Scott makes low, soft, encouraging noises, rumbling in his chest. He takes Derek's hands and lowers it back so they can continue their task from before, working Liam open so he gapes and the smell of him gushing all over their legs stays strong and potent.

Derek rocks his hips so he's fucking the cradle of Liam's thigh and growls in pleasure when the omega smacks his ass as if to say mush. They're both _dripping_ wet and breathing hotly into each other's mouths and Derek feels like there's so much pressure behind his chest and building in his knot, he's going to explode. He whimpers and starts to cry as he fucks furiously at the boy beneath him, but can't get the sensation to release.

He's right on the edge, but something's not there. There's something he _needs_ and he can't think of it in his desperate haze. He bites at Liam's shoulder and claws at Scott's ass and gets up onto the balls of his feet to drive his cock harder down, but it's still not coming. _He's_ still not coming. His fingers piston and jam inside the sopping cunt offered to him and Liam cries out as he pounds into a soft, round node that makes the boy squirt all over the bedspread-- tightening and swelling around the cluster of digits inside him harshly and trapping them inside.

Scott kisses his temple sweetly and whispers sweet words to him to keep Liam from panicking before he sits up, pouts softly at Derek, and then uses his free hand to yank Derek's wildly swinging scrotum like he's ringing church bells. Derek's sight whites out and he shakes as he empties a plentiful load all over the boys beneath him-- his balls drawing all the way up to his body for just a few handful of seconds.

He collapses into the truly massive mess beneath him and buries his face into the first dry patch of skin he can find, mortified. His and Scott's fingers will be stuck inside Liam for at least twenty minutes, which means the three of them won't be going anywhere. “I love you!” Scott gasps out on a giddy laugh and Derek feels his insides lurch. Ten seconds after he came his brains out and already he's thinking about Stiles. So much for this distraction.

He looks up when he feels a nose nudging at his upper arm and he tries not to make eye contact with anyone. Liam is sweating and smiling and his eyelids are drooping like he hasn't slept for days. And Scott--- Scott is looking at... him. That grinning face and those bright eyes and that rapturous exclamation was... for him. “Dude, I told you this would be an amazing idea. That was the hottest thing I've ever experienced in my whole life. You've _gotta_ come out of your shell because more people have to see that. You've been holding out on me, because that-- that was visionary!”

Derek can't help a happy, disbelieving laugh from bubbling out his chest and he shakes his head as he lays it down on Liam's chest. He still hasn't gotten to knot anything, and now he's sure that he wants that more than anything.

They still have all weekend.

 


	5. Isaac

Isaac's kept his window open every day for the past month and a half and is treated, every morning, to Jackson's lily-white ass when he gets up, a full-frontal shot when he turns to his own window and waves hello, and then some masturbatory tour de force or other before he leaves view-- presumably to get showered and dressed for the day. Isaac gets so hard he's dripping as he fogs up the glass with his breath and squints as hard as he can, as though that'll suddenly make his vision telescopic and he will be able to count the freckles starting on Jackson's lower back and gradiating into obscurity on the globes of his ass.

But he never touches himself, he doesn't let his hands leave the window frame, and it takes everything he has, but he keeps his hips tilted away so he can't frot against the pane, like Jackson did with his mirror. It feels... dishonest to do that. He knows he'd enjoy it in the moment, but after, when Jackson walked away and he was left to clean up his own mess, quiet in the dark of his house, he knows he'd feel sick to his stomach.

Jackson may have fun with his exhibitionist show and Isaac would never deny himself the viewing, but the voyeuristic side of things just makes him feel like a perv if he does anything but watch. Because Jackson clearly knows he's being watched, gets off on it too, but he didn't exactly sign on to be someone's porno, and Isaac doesn't want to make that decision for him. He doesn't want to... take that from him. It may be a ridiculous notion, but he doesn't care.

Isaac has lived across the street from Jackson Whittemore for close to four years now and he's watched the boy be discounted for his whole life-- a fashionable accessory to his parents, a prize and idol to his peers, a seeming nothing to himself. If no one else is going to give him the consideration he deserves, at least Isaac can, even if he's the only one who knows it. So they never really talk about their morning ritual outside of those heady, hallucinatory moments when everything is still a pale grey and no one else in the world seems to be awake.

It's the unsaid deal between them that they can be friends again, as they once were when they first met and used to make mud pies in his backyard, following much the same rules. In school, Isaac is only to engage if first approached and is meant not to mention any of their time spent together. He is not to come to the house when Jackson's parents are home, or greet the other boy if they are around him. And what makes it worth it, what makes Isaac obey all those rules, even as he grinds his teeth and dreams about smothering Jackson in his sleep?

The final rule. The rule wherein, when he and Jackson are together, everyone else is to be ignored. It is once again their little bubble, their little world where there is no one but them. Jackson can clean his cuts and bruises and bring him painkillers and pretend he doesn't know why he has to. Isaac can hold Jackson tightly as he shakes and whispers that he matters, that he's worth something, and say that he was doing it just for comfort. They sit, mostly outside, and press their bodies together just to know the other is there, and talk about whatever flits across their minds, no matter how heavy or inconsequential.

But that mostly only lasts in the hours after Jackson has gotten back from lacrosse practice and before his parents come home and expect him to be clean and prim and ready to indulge their instructions guised as conversation over the massive oak dining table that Jackson says he sits alone at-- all the way at the other side from them-- like opposing counsel in arbitration. Those three or so golden hours where they both just feel like kids dreaming of lives that are all their own are what get Isaac through all the rest.

It's why he's surprised when a rapping comes at his window one evening-- the sun already down and the stars coming out-- and he opens the curtains to find Jackson there with a bag slung over his shoulder. Jackson's dressed to the nines and looking like the Ken Doll version of himself, minus the dark circles under his eyes and the grimness on the set of his mouth. Isaac doesn't say a word as he slides open his window and scoots back to let Jackson climb in and over his bed.

The other boy acknowledges and seems to appreciate the silence if the half-smile that never reaches his eyes is anything to go off of. Isaac sticks his head out the window to look at the mini-mansion with lights still on downstairs and cars all over the driveway before closing the pane back up and drawing the curtains closed. When he turns, Jackson is already out of his suit jacket and loosening his belt, and he croaks out, “Bathroom?”

Isaac just silently points out his door and across the hall and then uses that same finger to raise to his lips with wide eyes. Jackson nods and takes his bag with him, thankfully treading lightly on his way. The second the bathroom door closes behind him, Isaac shoots up and paces around his room for a second before shoving all of the dirty socks and shirts and underwear into his closet and shutting it up tight, throwing a handful of tissues over the bloody gauze in his trashbin, and shaking out his sheets and hoping they don't smell too much of sweat and spunk.

Jackson may treat his own room like a Vegas hotel, but that's because he has a maid that comes every morning and makes things neat and tidy and daisy fresh. Isaac can't remember the last time he vacuumed and is suddenly aware his feet smell like feet, but like hundreds of them instead of just two, and his floor creaks, and his furniture has splits and chips, and the boxers he's wearing have a mustard stain on the piss slit. He's suddenly, painfully aware of why he never invites Jackson in and he can't imagine what the boy must be thinking in that bathroom from the sixties that hasn't been repaired or redecorated since and is mostly just a narrow hallway with a sink and toilet and shower stall.

There's nothing really that he can do about it, but he can still stand and chew at his nails and twitch like a nervous bird, anyway, and so that's what he chooses as he stares at the shadow under the bathroom door moving back and forth and small, muted clatters come from there. He debates changing, debates running to the kitchen and washing his face and feet and pits. There's so many things he could do that might, maybe make things better, but he's paralyzed by the if's.

Before he knows it, before he's even realized how much time has passed, that door is creaking open again and he's wincing at those fucking hinges that he should have damn well oiled. But then Jackson is peering out from the crack with this look on his face like he's waiting to be yelled at and--

Isaac's never seen him like this, not once. He looks meek and shy and small as he shuffles back into the room and sits his bag on the floor, his folded clothes on the back of a chair, and doesn't make eye contact. He's in a dark grey pair of yoga pants and striped woolen socks, with a graphic tank top on that's loose-- a droopy hem and bro-cut sleeve holes down to his ribcage-- and thin enough to see the pink shape of his nipples and the dark indent of his navel. His hair is wild but pulled back with a wide, terry cloth headband and his face is dotted with zit creme-- pore strip on his nose, stylish, thick-rimmed glasses sitting on the bridge.

“What're you staring at?” he mumbles gruffly as he goes to flop himself on Isaac's bed. It could just be that he's blushing, but Isaac thinks that he must have to wear some kind of foundation, because his freckles are much more copious and prevalent now and he wants to run his fingers all over the smattering of smudges at the top of those chiseled cheeks and strong nose. Jackson picks up a stray comic book from the floor and starts flipping through, even though he groans and whines any time Isaac starts relaying the latest Marvel movie plot to him. It's.... adorable.

“Nothing.” Isaac shrugs as nonchalant as he can manage and flops beside him, snuggling in against his shoulder so that he can look up at the pages too. Jackson is stiff and frozen next to him for a moment, not even breathing, hands shaking a little and making the bubbles of dialogue very hard to read. Isaac reaches out a hand to steady them and tenderly rubs his index finger along Jackson's knuckles until they stop trembling. “You probably won't like _Killjoys--_ there's robots and dystopian governments and martyrdom. _Archie_ might be more your speed.”

Isaac levers himself up just enough to see Jackson's face as he smirks and the other boy snorts, rolls his eyes, and elbows him in the ribs. “You're such a little shit-- and your room smells like you bathe in feet-- I don't know why I hang out with you.” Isaac chuckles as he falls back to the matress and ushers Jackson to turn the page, burying his curls underneath his chin.

Their bare feet fall together at the end of the bed and knock and nudge playfully while the sound of their steady breathing sets a lethargic mood in the room. “I don't know either,” Isaac sighs, as if put-out, and doesn't miss when Jackson's hand falls away from the comic to let him hold one end, coming to curl around his back and grip his waist.

They stay like that through the whole series, reading quietly and dutifully by the light of Isaac's desk lamp. Before he can get to the stunningly depressing conclusion, Jackson falls asleep, arm going slack against Isaac's back and soft, whispering snores coming from his gently opened lips. Isaac could stay wrapped up in him forever, but extricates himself to put down the comic, carefully pull the sheets out from under them to lay over top, and then looks down at Jackson with a smile.

He can't believe that he was trusted with this, that he was given this side of him that he's sure no one else has seen before. It makes him feel like he's bursting with warmth and he has to put a hand over his mouth to keep joyous laughter from spilling out. Carefully, slowly, he pulls Jackson's glasses off his face and folds them up, putting them on the desk close enough to serve as his nightstand. He flicks the light off while he's stretched over there and then takes a moment to just watch the other boy breathe in the moonlight.

Maybe, just once, he can take something from him. Maybe, after this, it would be okay for Isaac to just let himself have one thing. So he leans over Jackson, smooth and slow, and brushes his nose over that pore strip that's gonna hurt like a bitch coming off tomorrow. He chuckles and nuzzles a little more before he captures Jackson's parted top lip between his own and kisses the beta, soft and quiet.

Isaac pillows his head back on Jackson's shoulder and closes his eyes, just before the other boy reaches up to press fingers to his warm lips. It's the first movement he's missed in years.

* * *

 

It's the last game, the end of the season, and for the seniors-- their last bout on this field forever. Isaac's in the stand, like always, but tonight he's joined by the entire student body. Minus the alphas, of course. They wouldn't be able to handle all the sweat and the adrenaline and the excitement. At least, the younger ones wouldn't. All those heading towards graduation are hoping they'll be passing their Examinations and earning the right to travel freely between all section of the city.

It adds to the permanent buzz that's been going through the school these last months as everyone prepares to enter into an entirely new phase in their lives. The stands feel as though there's static electricity bouncing through every person and amplifying every time it jumps hosts until they're all on their feet-- shouting and stomping and screaming with every missed pass or close call near the goal.

Isaac feels alive in a way he doesn't think he ever has before and he wants to vibrate right out of his skin as his blood pounds in his ears and his throat scratches, hoarse. It's a whole different experience than when he's out here, mostly on his own, swearing under his breath, and trying to act like he's not watching Jackson exclusively. He feels like part of a whole nother organism, like the school has become its own living, breathing entity, all focused on projecting a sense of _win_ towards their favorite athletes.

After this, there's not really anything left for any of them to do, besides stress over finals and the Examination. It seems like the last celebratory explosion to give them momentum to crash through the end of the month and make it to Heat Week, where they'll fuck their brains out to revel in moving past high school forever. So everyone is focused on this, caught up in the moment, unable to see anything else, because right now this is all that matters.

It's all that matters and they're all tied up and the time is winding down. It just wouldn't feel right if there wasn't this kind of pressure-- it wouldn't be the kind of release that they all need-- and it's the perfect set-up for a night that feels like the sunrise will bring the end of everything. Everyone is hoping that the boy they're cheering for will be the one to give their team the break and the win-- on both sides. They need the closure.

Jackson and Stiles are bounding across the field like gazelles, even as their faces are red and sweat seems to be pouring from every pore in their bodies. The other boys are holding up with varying degrees of exhaustion, but those two are the ones gunning to be the hero-- wanting to prove something to themselves and to everyone else here. Isaac likes Stiles, he's a great guy and a total idiot and a little irritating, but also a little funny. His feelings about him aren't at all twisted up in how much Jackson stares at him or how many times he recounts that locker room story from weeks and weeks ago.

He doesn't know how to compete with simple, static biology or animal instinct. He can't _make_ Jackson want him more. All he can do is be there and hope against hope that it means something, that he can be what Jackson is looking for, what he needs. He won't be able to bear children for him like Stiles, won't give him a better family, and the life he didn't, himself, get. And he doesn't know what that means for whether or not they'll ever be anything.

He's so busy starting down that all-too familiar spiral that he doesn't notice the tension in the air as everyone around him crouches, leans forward, tenses their muscles and then _yells._ He looks up, startled, and Beacon Hills is a goal ahead. Five seconds are running down on the clock and they're ahead-- they scored! He frantically scans the field to see who it was and Jackson is standing with his arms raised triumphantly, his helmet ripped off his head, and he's _beaming._

Isaac has never seen him look so fulfilled in his whole life, and it makes surprised, happy tears burst across his eyes and he barks out a laugh as he raises his arms and just yells indeterminate noises along with everyone else. He sniffles and wipes furiously at his eyes and just tries his best to exude _pride_ everywhere that he can. The whole stadium is shaking with the force of everyone's excitement and Isaac loses sight of him for a while as they rush the field.

He's feeling a little claustrophobic and panicky at this moment, but he pushes it all aside to start thundering down the rickety metal with them, feeling infinitely better when he hits the solid grass, and then starts weaving through the host of bodies. There's parents and siblings and friends all yelling to be heard over each other, clapping their player on the bulky pads, girlfriends and boyfriends being picked up and twirled.

It feels like the final moments of a football movie and Isaac wants so badly to call them all cliché, but he's the one fighting off his anxieties to try and get to the boy he thinks he loves first, to be the one to embrace him and get the full force of his elation. Once he breaks through to the somewhat thinner center field, he has a better view of everything and spots Jackson right away, jumping up and down and hooting and hollering. He's about twenty feet away and Isaac raises his hand to catch his attention-- cups the other around his mouth to call out to him.

Jackson's eyes widen in recognition and he looks as though he's gonna start moving forward, but then someone else hollers to him and he turns his head. Isaac rushes to the side to try and get a view and his heart falls right out his ass when he sees Stiles, flushed and joyous and grinning ear to ear as he flicks his head in the direction of where the rest of the team is heading, no doubt, to some kind of after party to be celebrated as gods for the night.

That's Jackson's scene, exactly, even if there weren't a chance of a hook-up, but judging by the way Stiles' eyes are sparkling and his chest is still heaving and his skin is flushed, the adrenaline from winning has sent him over the edge. This close to heat, that big a flush of hormones, Isaac is surprised he's not climbing fence posts to try and get off. He wants to judge him, wants to be angry, wants to call him a whore, but... he just can't. Stiles doesn't deserve it, and besides, he can no more help his biology than Isaac can.

Isaac lowers his arm slowly, and then his head, and jams his hands into his pockets to keep them from forming fists. Jackson whips his head back to him with a conflicted look on his face and half-turns back to him. Isaac gives him a wry, half smile and shrugs. Even as it feels like it's rending his heart in two, he pulls out a hand to give him a shooing gesture, mouthing at him to 'go and get your man!'

Jackson chews at his lip and looks between the two of them again and again and Isaac turns away and starts walking towards the parking lot. He doesn't really want to actually _see_ the moment where Stiles gets picked over him. For the rest of the night, he can lie in bed and pretend like he doesn't know exactly what's going to happen-- like maybe Jackson will just go and laugh and party and hopefully not get drunk because he knows how much Isaac detests that. He's spent too long afraid of the smell of whiskey on someone's breath, he doesn't have time for anyone being drunk assholes. He plans on being sober, himself, for his whole life.

He'll have to face the truth in the morning when Jackson will likely stumble in through his window--- like he has been doing ever since that first night-- in the same clothes from last night, smelling like omega slick and cum, and smiling that genuine smile that used to be so rare. Until then, he's just gonna bury himself in denial and mint chocolate chip and whatever is having a rerun marathon tonight on tv.

He's broken out of his sadsack reverie before it can even get off the ground when a hand grabs at his elbow and holds him back. Isaac turns, tired, to tell whoever it is that he's not in the mood to “celebrate” tonight, but the words die in his throat and he just makes this noise like he's choking when he sees Jackson's shy face. The other boy is looking up at him from under his lashes and digging divots into the field with his cleats, not at all the cocky, arrogant, asshole Isaac has come to know so well. “I was thinking maybe we could grab a pizza and some ice cream and head back to mine for a movie marathon? We could get anchovies and mint chocolate chip and watch Nancy Meyers films while you point out all the white, rich people problems to me and I tell you if they've ever happened to anyone I know.”

Jackson shrugs like it's not a big deal that he's turning down the chance to nail down the guy he's been chasing down since sophomore year just to hang out and do stupid shit with Isaac. “But... those are all my favorite things. You're the one that just won the championship game.” Well, that was certainly not was he was _planning_ on saying. He has a thousand questions burning in his chest and fighting to get out, but that's all he can manage.

“I... wanna do what you want to do.” Jackson scans the rapidly emptying field and starts to blush-- his freckles standing out with the bloom of red-- before he slides his hand from Isaac's elbow down to intertwine their fingers. He squeezes Isaac's hand tightly and Isaac can't keep himself from gasping at the sensation. “My parents are out of town-- some fundraiser in Monaco. We'll have the house to ourselves.”

Isaac can't eke out an answer, no matter how much he wants to, and Jackson just smirks and shakes his head as he pulls him along, out towards his car. Isaac rode his bike here-- it's still chained up out front of the school-- but when he opens his mouth to say so, he just squeaks. He wants to smack himself in the face to try and pull himself together, but he's afraid he'd just wake himself from the best possible dream, so he lets himself be tugged along.

This is-- this is-- everything.

* * *

 

Warm, afternoon sunlight filtering through overlarge windows makes Isaac's eyes hurt and he winces as he rolls over and groans, trying to burrow into the lump of fabric next to him... which smells overwhelmingly of sweat. He wrinkles his nose as he rolls back over and is forced to open his eyes-- squinting and holding a hand to shield them. There's grease on his lips and fingers and his tongue still tastes of freezer burned chocolate and-- there's a hand on his naked hip that isn't his.

Isaac squints down at it in utter confusion for a moment before he follows it up and up and sees that it's attached to a very, very naked Jackson. It's not anything different from what he knows, except that it totally is. Because this isn't through two glass windows and across a wide street. This is so close that he could touch and there's natural light illuminating every single hair on his body-- setting it aglow and making it look a gorgeous strawberry blonde.

Those stunning eyes are open and roaming over Isaac similarly, and even though he managed to keep his own, threadbare cotton boxers on, he still feels put on show. He tries not to act as nervous as he feels, doesn't raise his hands to cover himself, doesn't roll away. Last night-- last night Jackson chose _him._ He doesn't know what to make of that, just knows that something feels like it's settled inside him and he's willing to go wherever this leads now.

And Jackson's hands are definitely going places. The other boy is propping himself up on his elbows to drag his torso over Isaac's and he has to swallow thickly when Jackson stares at him with fondness and muted excitement. “Hi,” he murmurs, trying to get his mouth not to feel so dry and his fingers to stop tingling-- half-dead from being laid on in a funny position.

“Morning-- afternoon” Jackson snorts at him, smirking before he leans down to rub his nose against Isaac's in the exact same gesture as Isaac used on him, and capturing his top lip in a tender kiss. Isaac's breath catches in his chest for more reasons that one, but his eyes flutter shut when Jackson's tongue darts to lick at him, curious and questioning. He lets out that inhaled breath with a shaky sigh and presses back, opens up.

His back arches off the plush carpet in the theatre room for a moment as he strains to keep them close, but Jackson just pulls away with a tiny chuckle, pecking at the tops of his cheeks and then his closed eyelids. One of the beta's hands is gently petting at his chest while the other holds his hip and Isaac feels so... safe. He's warm and fuzzy from the sunlight streaming in and the bit of sleep he hasn't shaken off yet and Jackson is surrounding him so completely, he feels again like they're the only ones in the world.

Jackson's breath is warm and steady against him as he returns to Isaac's mouth and starts licking against the roof of his mouth, chasing the bit of sugar stuck in his molars, touching the tips of their tongues together with little bumps and presses. Isaac finally finds the motor movement to raise his hands and he places one on the round of Jackson's shoulder, while the other drifts down to rest in the curve of his lower back, tracing the little dimples there.

Jackson melts into the touch, undulating, a wave running through his body at the contact, and Isaac feels powerful for it. He strokes that smooth skin up and down, over and over, until one dares lower and cups the plush give below, peach fuzz tickling his palm. Jackson groans at that and Isaac can feel a warm length against the outside of his thigh start to harden, swell.

His heart beats double time at the realization of what that is, and his fingers tighten to switch from cupping to groping. Jackson rumbles and hums at his sudden eagerness, pulling off his mouth to lip and suck at the hinge of his jaw, starting to rut against him and making Isaac swell himself. The itchy, cheap fabric of his boxers feels over-sensitive against the cleft of the head of his cock when it starts to swell and wet and he squirms beneath Jackson, mewling softly.

The other boy huffs softly against him as he reaches the hand left on Isaac's hip to wrangle with the button on the front of his boxers, sliding the fabric open around his erection when he succeeds. Isaac gasps softly at the feel of fresh air against himself-- cool for just a moment before Jackson's naked stomach squishes him flat and Isaac bucks at the feeling of skin against skin. The thin happy trail Jackson keeps neatly trimmed tickles at the underside of his dick and his tip catches in Jackson's navel, stretching the rim of it before beading precum and sliding out.

Jackson's own cock is riding in the cradle of his pelvis, his pubes scratching lightly at the thin skin and his dickhead leaving a trail of stickiness that never gets the chance to cool as it's run over again and again. Isaac lifts his legs to wrap around Jackson's waist and encourage him on, pulling him along with each rocking thrust he rolls into. Isaac uses one hand to pull Jackson's face back to him to nibble and gnaw on his lips carefully, while the other jiggles at his flesh-- all the work the boy put into his glutes having shaped them nicer, but doing nothing to make them any firmer.

Jackson's breath hitches as he pulls away to bury his face against Isaac's throat, his body working in a steady rhythm as his chest starts to heave a little and sweat starts to stick their skin together. Isaac shudders every time they breathe in together and their stomachs touch, tacky and quivering. His muscles feel sleep sore and his throat is still dry and his ass is asleep, but he's overwarm where Jackson is working on top of him and his heart feels like it's fit to burst.

Jackson is making those adorable little porn noises that are somehow genuine with him, because it would seem that he doesn't know any better, and Isaac almost feels like giggling at the way his brows are drawn and his eyes are closed and he's just thrusting with his bottom half as he leaves his torso static-- held up by straining arms while he drops high pitched, “uh's!” and “ya's!” Isaac has to plant his own feet to the ground, moving to get a friction for himself that's more than just a tease, but he secretly revels in the fact that Jackson's so unpracticed, that he's going to have to _learn._

It's endearing and gentle and definitely the other boy's first time. Isaac turns his head to mouth at his earlobe and he starts whispering little encouragements to him, sweet nothings that make Jackson's breath come faster and his hips start to stutter. Isaac gropes and pulls at the meat of his ass and frots himself in time, catching again and again against his smooth belly button.

Isaac tugs Jackson's hair softly to get him to pull his face away, kissing him deeply when he's up, bumping their foreheads and laughing through his nose. He pulls away to peck at Jackson's cheek and whispers, “Look at me.” The other beta shakes his head and grunts softly as sweat starts to roll down from his hairline, but Isaac just pinches his butt and ushers him again. “ _Look_ at me.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Jackson's eyes flutter open-- that bright blue locking in on Isaac and seeming to flare. Isaac's chest compresses like it's being sat on and he feels his whole groin tense before pulsing-- his cum running instead of spurting and spilling all along his own stomach. Jackson's breath catches and he blushes deep and looks almost terrified as his own hips flex and jerk and he curls around himself, pulling up to thrust into the open air before he spills too.

Isaac lets go of him to grab his jaw and pull him down, tugging insistently when the other boy makes a noise of discomfort at being made to lie in his own mess. Isaac kisses at those adorable freckles and beautiful eyes and wrinkled forehead before smacking his cheek harshly. Jackson looks absolutely shocked and affronted and presses a palm to where the skin is already starting to grow hot. “ _That_ is for being such a fucknut and making me wait so long.” Isaac kisses his lush lips sweetly and massages his lower back, tender. “And that's for finally getting to it when it mattered.”

* * *

 

Isaac isn't sure, exactly, how this risk is going to land, but he feels like the possible benefits are worth it. He feels like a smart and generous and good person doing it.... If it all works out. If it doesn't, well then, he's just an idiot.

But he has an inkling that it might just be a great idea-- the best one in fact! And that's why he's bouncing on his heels and waiting nervously as he hears Jackson's engine rev in the driveway before it shuts off. His car door slams and the distinct clack of his loafers on the cement ring out across the yard outside. They're standing just inside the door, right in the parlor between the twin stair cases, they'll be the first thing that he sees.

The key clicks in the lock and the door sticks for a moment before Jackson swings it open-- and freezes. His eyes are wide and his hand is still on the handle and he looks a little like he just got caught with his pants around his ankles. Or like someone who doesn't get off on being watched would. “What-- what's going on? Is this some kind of joke because it isn't fucking funny!”

Isaac rushes forward to take Jackson's hands and smiles placatingly at him, shaking his head. “No joke, no trick, no beleaguered plans. This is just me, extending the olive branch and seeing if I can't lay something to rest.” Isaac has to tug to get Jackson all the way into the house and to sit in one of the seats adorning the expansive, round room. Across from him, in the mirrored space, Stiles Stilinski sits with a nervous smile on his face, hands twiddling in his lap, and leg jimmying up and down.

“It would seem that Stiles' bondmate went and fell in love with an alpha this semester and now that Heat Week is coming up, he doesn't have anyone to share his time with,” Isaac looks between the two as Stiles blushes furiously and rubs the back of his neck, while Jackson looks vaguely constipated. “One beta isn't nearly enough to keep up with an omega in heat, so he's agreed, if we want, to sign on with both of us.”

This is finally when he gets a reaction and Jackson's eyes widen as he looks up at him. Good man, fearing to be excited with the offer of another boy until his boyfriend approves. Smart thinking like that will make sure Isaac doesn't have to cut off his balls and keep them in his pockets. “Did he come to you or did you go to him?” Jackson asks warily, still obviously afraid this is a trap, though he's definitely acknowledged that he wants the bait. His eyes keep straining towards where Stiles is pantomiming whistling and looking up at the ceiling.

“I approached him. I know you told me you're ready to move on, but I just never wanted you to have moments where you thought, what-if, y'know?” Isaac picks at his cuticles without looking and tries not to convey just how nervous he himself is. “I thought, maybe, if we did this together, then you'd have had your time with him and you'd know for sure, that you're ready. Because if you aren't that's okay, I just don't want to rob you of the chance and come to resent me for it later. That-- that would kill me.”

Isaac looks down at his feet to hide the anxiety that is surely written across his face, his stomach twisting in knots, and his heart clenching in embarrassment at doing this in front of the very boy in question. Like it's not enough to admit his insecurities in the first place, he has to do it in front of the person that's made them, however unconsciously as he did. He's just starting to get a sour taste in his mouth when he feels a hand smooth down his jaw to grip at his chin and lift his head up.

Jackson's expression gives away nothing, but there's a fondness that radiates so deeply in his eyes, that Isaac can't help the small gasp that escapes him. “I'm gonna do this, but I'm not gonna do it for myself-- I'm gonna do it so that you don't always wonder, okay? I don't want you to ever have to doubt that this is exactly what I wanted.” He gives Isaac a small, private smile before leaning up to kiss him, closed mouth, but passionate. As soon as he pulls away, he stands and heads over to where Stiles is clutching a sheaf of paperwork in his hands. “You really want to do this, or did he just talk you into it?” Jackson says with a jerk of his head. Isaac would be affronted if it wasn't a just question.

Stiles blushes again-- face splotchy and yet still attractive-- and stands so he and Jackson are nearly chest to chest. “I make my own decisions about my body, I though you would have learned that by now.” The righteous tone of his words is belied by the smirk on his face as he lays the paperwork out on a spotlessly polished table next to an antique looking vase and pulls out a purple Bic to sign. “You really think, after all this, I wasn't actually, even a little bit curious? Dude! You're hot as the sun, everyone knows it. I just always felt like you didn't want me for me, you wanted me for my parts.”

This time it's Jackson that has the decency to look embarrassed, even as he takes the pen and starts combing through the documents, signing and checking boxes. “Maybe, I didn't always think 'boyfriend' when it came to you, but if I just wanted a hot hole, there were plenty of people who would've done it just to say they had the Prom King. You were always more than that-- I hope you believe me.” Isaac feels a strange sense of pride as he listens to their conversation-- glad to see the bit of change he enacted on Jackson, the self-reflection that wasn't just a mire of doubt and misguided loathing. This feels good, right. He was right.

“I wouldn't be letting you spend Heat Week with me if I didn't.” Stiles gives him a reassuring smile and clap on the shoulder as Jackson finishes signing, and then it's Isaac's turn. “Isaac's the one that convinced me. You should really try and keep him around for a while, I think he's good for you.” Isaac feels a thrill run up his back and almost whimpers when Jackson's hand comes to rub up and down his curved spine. “You better treat him like a gift, because there's not a lot of people that would have worked so hard to get to your tootsie pop center.”

Isaac can't keep himself from laughing-- only getting louder when Jackson throws a withering glance at him-- and he covers his mouth around the barks when he straightens back up. Jackson's arm is tight and possessive around his waist when he says, “I will,” serious as a plague. Isaac stops laughing immediately and feels his whole body warm throughout. Oh he's good. He's very, very good.

* * *

 

Walking into the center and signing in is such a surreal experience, Isaac can hardly believe that this all isn't some kind of masturbatory dream that he's currently having-- sitting alone, curled up in his room, and fisting his cock like there's no tomorrow while burying his face in that pair of bikini briefs he stole from Jackson's locker during swim practice over a year and a half ago. As a beta, he's never really thought that deeply about heat. It was always just someone else's problem and, finally, an obstacle in his life that he just didn't have to deal with.

While all the alphas and omegas were locked away or drugged out on suppressants, the betas got to roam freely and finally be unshackled by all the restrictions that usually plagued the city. It was such a carefree week and there were parties thrown all around. Because while your pubescent kids where locked away, coming so hard and so frequently they were all given muscle relaxants so they don't hurt themselves, the families and friends that got segregated got to spend a whole week together without filling out forms and finding places for their children to be first.

It always felt a little... off taking such joy in being separated from a good portion of the population for an extended period of time, but they got to take their pleasures and so the betas and adults found their own. Isaac used to just wander the city-- no particular festivity or relative to see-- and often found himself buzzing by places to get all the free food, t shirts, and whatever else might be shot out of a canon or won in an inane contest that he could get his hands on. Heat Week was like his very own Christmas.

But this year, he's spending it like so many others-- walking into the calm greys and blues of the local Heat Treatment Facility, hand in hand with Jackson. They have to sign in, get verification of their contract, and visual confirmation that they're with the right omega, and then head to separate chambers where an orderly waits for them to strip completely, bundles their clothes in plastic bags, and then puts them in some air sealed, pressurized unit where the smells of the outside world are purged from their body.

It feels almost like entering a prison, except when they emerge on the other side, they're given a stack of washcloths, a whole crate of water bottles, and muscle relaxants. A firm pat on the back and a knowing smile creepify the whole thing before Isaac is led to a room with an overwhelmingly large bed sits on one side, and a set of armchairs and a tv are on the other. The door has a slat in the bottom, most likely for food trays, but there is no window up top, probably for privacy.

Stiles is in the center of the huge bed, flushed and naked and hard. His eyes are heavy lidded and he's breathing heavily through an open mouth. His whole body has turned this lush, lovely shade of pink that has Isaac's breath catching in his throat, and he's covered with a thin sheen of sweat-- droplets gathering and dripping from the center of his top lip.

His fingers are buried deep inside himself and Isaac practically chokes on the heavy scent that comes wafting off him every time a slurry of slick gushes between his digits. Like blood oranges and coriander. Isaac finds himself getting suddenly, unbearably hard, and he groans at how good it feels. Usually he's not comfortable in indulging an obscene level of debauchery when it comes to his carnal intimacy, but already he's feeling his head swim and his inhibitions melt away.

He feels achy and feverish and like thousands of ants are crawling across his skin. His balls are tingling where they twitch between his thighs-- aching to be emptied again and again. Isaac doesn't even really register that the door has opened again, until Jackson's hands are running down his arms, and he shivers at the touch. It takes everything in him to tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him, but when he does, he likes what he sees even better.

His newly minted 'boyfriend' is absolutely gaping-- his mouth open, his pupils dilated, his nipples pebbled, and his cock dripping. Jackson keeps throwing glances between the both of them and Isaac would be worried he was going to hyperventilate if he couldn't see the deep, even draws of breath puffing up his chest right before him. Isaac smiles softly at him and reaches a hand up to cup at his jaw and pull him down into a pleased, filthy kiss that leaves their lips wet. “Consider this an early birthday present as well. I can't think of anything I could get you to top it.”

Jackson just whines softly as he nods his head in short, sharp jerks, and wraps his hands tight enough around Isaac's hip to bruise. Isaac just rolls his eyes and sucks a quickly fading bruise into the hinge of his jaw, before guiding his boyfriend over to the bed. Jackson looks so thoroughly overwhelmed, he probably can't be expected to make any decisions for himself, so Isaac decides to steer this boat. Stiles certainly can't, what with the way he's mewling and pulling his asshole open to show the boys his heated, velvet insides, begging.

Isaac bites down harshly on his lips and swallows a cry, reaching out to spread the omega's legs wide before he presses down lightly on Jackson's shoulders and ushers the boy into that eager cradle, smiling and nodding encouragingly when he looks back in question first. “There'll be plenty of time for fucking later and we both wanna try and keep our stamina up. Eat a couple orgasms out of him to get him to settle first, he's burning up.”

Jackson nods dumbly before turning his face back to the plush, pink pucker in front of him that's unfurling wide, wide open on the release of every breath Stiles takes. He frowns at it for just a second before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to its center-- getting a little spooked when Stiles moans whorishly and his whole body shakes. Isaac pets down his boyfriend's spine and shushes him, kissing a shoulder blade before pushing him back down again.

Jackson kisses at that little muscle gently at first, but as soon as he licks his lips-- coated and shiny and messy with slick-- and tastes the concentrated pheromones Stiles is throwing out, his whole body tenses up and he dives back in with vigor. Those kisses are wet and open and hungry now and Jackson groans into the muscle when it opens, making Stiles stretch and purr and clamp his thighs around the beta's face. Isaac fists his hands in the sheets to keep from touching himself as he watches from just inches away-- his hand moving down to play with Jackson's ass idly.

Jackson backs up into the tentative fingers he teases with, and Isaac has to remind himself that that isn't what they're here for right now, that it'll be less than helpful. “He's already open, no need to be so gentle. He needs to come-- lick him, jab inside him, suck and nibble on that sensitive rim and make him blow.” Jackson writhes beneath the instructions and whimpers as he takes them. He starts to rut against the mattress as he opens his jaw wide and extends his tongue as far as it goes, pushing easily beyond Stiles' loose entrance and inside him.

The omega starts pumping out enough slick that it's running rivulets down Jackson's chin and neck and the other boy cries as he swallows back mouthful after mouthful, curling and cupping his tongue on the retreat to pull it out of him. Stiles starts arching his back and pinching at his pouty nipples as he bucks, smothering Jackson inside his ass. The dark thicket of hair surrounding his ass is matted down and pulled away and all the other body hair on him is swirled in messy whorls from his sweat and writhing contortions. Isaac has never seen someone look so animal, and even though he hates to admit it, with his pulse thundering in his ears, he finds it utterly arousing.

The sounds Jackson is making get even more obscene as he shoves his tongue as deep as it will go and then seals his lips around the bud of Stiles' asshole, sucking harshly on it and dragging his teeth against the thin skin. Stiles' eyes screw shut and his omega cocklet flexes and his whole body goes rigid as he starts to come. Jackson chokes on the sudden flood of slick-- now opalescent with cunt-cum instead of clear-- and starts to pull back, but Isaac just shoves him deeper by the back of his head. “Try and pull more out of this! Wear him down a little, make him use his strength and energy to ride waves of this instead of having to fight for each orgasm individually.”

Jackson may not have thought much past signing the contract and then looking forward to a week-long threesome that he didn't even have to wash up during, but Isaac immediately read all the literature offered at the Facility and paged through blog after blog that had tips and tricks on how to survive Heat Week. Draining and stringing out the omega was key. If he didn't get enough, quick, he'd start to go feral and just _take._ Rabid and strong and vicious, he'd use them like ragdolls-- toys for his pleasure-- just to try and sate the fever inside of him.

But if they did this properly, if they dragged this out and made his limbs heavy and tired and sated, then he'd be lethargic and lucid and they could all, leisurely bask in the glow of a never-ending fuckfest to last the ages. So he holds Jackson still as gush after gush of fluids burst around his mouth and pool beneath his chest. Stiles hitches higher and higher, like a wire being tightened, and goes more and more rigid with each crest of his orgasm. When he finally breaks, when there is no more pleasure to be had from this, he jerks violently before collapsing and falling asleep almost immediately.

Jackson starts to sit up, slowly and warily, but Isaac just chuckles at him as he pulls the beta to his chest and wipes some of the copious liquids from his face with his thumbs. His jaw must be aching and he looks like his dick went straight from being pleasantly hard to painfully so. Isaac can't help but kiss him, cleaning him up with his own tongue and pecking lightly at his cheeks afterwards. “I hope you know it hasn't even been an hour and we still have a week ahead of this.”

Jackson whimpers pitifully and frowns up at him. “I don't want to wake him up before he's ready, but I want to come _so_ bad. And I want to do it inside of him.” Isaac tries his best to keep from outright laughing as he pets Jackson's hair and quiets him down again, using his other hand to pet at his flanks.

“Tell you what. Just once, just at the start of this-- before we're sore and there's not an ounce of cum left in our bodies-- we'll double dick him. It's exceedingly wasteful as far as stamina goes since we're trading two of our orgasms for one of his, but I want to feel your cock against mine when we enter him for the first time, and I want to feel you douse it in cum when he cunt-clamps us and we're stuck together afterwards.” Jackson groans pitifully and his dick spits pre where it's purpled and throbbing against the flat of his stomach. If Isaac were an asshole, he'd tell him to be careful of what he wishes for.

“You know what they say: be careful what you wish for.” The full on smack to his face is totally, totally worth it.

 


	6. Stiles (Three Months Later)

Unpacking the _final_ box from his move into the dorms fills Stiles with such a sense of accomplishment, that he can hardly rein in the full-out grin that comes across his face as he surveys the tiny, stone box that will likely be his home for the next four years. Early registration meant cutting his break short and having to say goodbye sooner than he would have liked, but it also meant getting on campus and familiar with the life way before all the other freshman. By the time they arrived, he'd already know the ins and outs-- where the best restaurants and study spaces were.

He can't believe he's finally made it out of segregated hell and has the chance to show everyone-- beta _and_ alpha-- that he's ready to take them all on. He's already declared a political science major and has managed to sneak a few low level classes for it in amongst his gen ed requirements. Stiles is ready to get his name out there and for everyone to know he's not gonna be one of those party-hard omegas that gets passed around fraternities and wants jock boys to carry his books for him. He's gonna take this college by storm, and soon, they'll all be _begging_ to get a piece of his ass.

He smirks to himself just before his phone pings and breaks him out of his triumphant daydreams. He scrambles to get it out and does a little happy dance when it's his Alpha4Omega app, delivering a message from his 'suitor'. Liam had _made_ him join after meeting Scott and the two of them falling into eternal damnation-- er, love-- together. It was absolutely idiotic and not even good for spank bank material since most of the alphas just took pictures of anemic knots and tried to get him hot and bothered by calling him a bitch, but just a month ago he'd found something that made it all worth it. Some _one_.

**DarcyWasAFool** : How'd the move go? You mark your territory and stain some sheets yet? ;)

Stiles blushes at just the words and imagines himself a broody, intellectual, college type behind it to go with his new setting. Someone with thick rimmed glasses and cardigans and a cat with an ironic name... Like Schrodinger. He bites at his lips and throws himself onto his mattress, just smiling at the screen for a second. The guy had only started talking to him by accident. Trying to find the search bar, he'd bumbled his way into a chat and Stiles patiently taught him how not to be a ninety year old on the internet. It was insanely cute that his cyberspace paramour had to ask how to send him virtual flowers, and even better when that was just a cover and he instead left little dog poops clogging up Stiles' inbox. 

He was kind of an ass and a whole lot a flirt and Stiles didn't even know how to process the fact that it was the best part of his day when he got to curl up in bed and make terrible sex puns with some guy he'd never even seen the face of. Because even after Stiles had told him how to change his profile pic, that generic triskele never went down. And that left him anxious and self conscious about the few, heavily filtered photos he'd uploaded of himself-- with his arm around Liam's shoulders, smiling on a sunny day, staring pensively into the ravine in the preserve that he still went to way too often, wearing a crop top and jorts as a goof, but then actually finding the outfit insanely comfortable-- and he wondered if the guy liked him intellectually, but could never take stuff past chats and tension-brimmed games of sexting chicken, because he just wasn't attracted to Stiles physically.

It was an avenue of self pity that he didn't like to indulge in all that often-- having decided after Liam told him that he hadn't applied to any colleges and got a job working for a florist in the city, that he had to suck it up and stop making excuses for why he wasn't powering through his life-- and so he shook it off even as it crept in on him now.

**MyRaspberryYourCream** : My roommate's gonna be pissed in a month when he comes in and sees moldy Cheetos and a vibrator on the floor, but other than that--

**MyRaspberryYourCream** : And who spanks it at noon? You got a real problem, friend. I save my nasty exclusively as nature's Ambien and to get my motor running in the mornings. 

Stiles throws himself back on his bed and sighs happily, trying to ignore the heat that's already starting to build between his legs-- that little, nagging itch that comes with having his insides slowly start to trickle with dew making him squirm-- and taking a deep inhale of the fresh bedding he just got put on here. It would be a shame to soak them through and have them smelling musky and sex-ridden already. He does _ not  _ want to spend his first, free afternoon here, doing laundry. If other guys are using the facilities, they'd definitely be able to smell why he was carting in his bedsheets and that is embarrassing as hell and not at  _ all  _ the picture he wants to be painting of himself. The opposite even! 

So when his hand drifts down subconsciously to scratch at the wiry hair on his stomach, petting his own, sinuous muscle, he has to make the conscious effort not to let it travel lower. It's hard and it sucks and Stiles just wants to get some fingers up inside himself, right this second. His phone beeps again and he definitely doesn't dive for it. He just has extra energy from a pretty pumped morning!

**DarcyWasAFool** : Do you actually eat during sex? It's always nachos and nookie for you. They're inseparably intertwined. I'm trying not to picture you fellating breakfast sausage and failing. 

Stiles barks out a laugh and rolls on his stomach to type. It's easier when he can rest his arms down instead of hold them up and not at all so he can leisurely grind his hips against the sheets. Nope.

**MyRaspberryYourCream** : I have been known to do more than a few tricks with milk and honey. ;) And although I'd love to say I'm a fan of wrapping my lips around some hot, juicy breakfast meat, you know if I'm gonna go porn plot, it's gotta be a banana.

Stiles buries his face in his arms when he throws his phone away and kicks his legs in the air, trying his best to keep himself from just rolling over and shoving his hands down the back of his pants. If he really didn't want to do laundry, he could hoof it down to the bathroom and start getting acquainted with the shower heads... They were detachable and had several settings....

He shakes his head and groans, rolling back onto his back and staring determinedly at the ceiling. He is not gonna do this. He is gonna be a big boy and stave off his cravings and not miss the chance to see Liam and Scott in their new house in an hour because he's too busy bashing his prostate like it owes him money. Idly, he wonders how Liam ever survived being  _ ultra  _ horny teenage bondmates with him, and says a few apologies to the sky for always dragging the boy away from something to eat him out. 

Stiles only notices that it's been a while since  **Darcy** replied after the insane lust peters off and he no longer has to fight to stay comfortably half-hard. He frowns softly and picks his phone back up, looking to see if he just missed the alert, when it hits him. Oh god. 

He told his internet crush he's lactating. And not just that, but that he finds it sexual. Shit! Goddamn shit-- shit goddamn. It's all Liam's fault for shacking up and playing house with an alpha. Maybe it's a little his own fault for crashing constantly and making their relationship a  _ menage,  _ but whatever! He's not even the one nesting and he leaks through his shirts more often than Liam does, even when he hasn't been to their home in a week! 

Some alphas find that kind of thing hot, but that's usually the ones who want to have fifteen children and expect you to be pregnant for twenty years straight and still let them fuck you in crazy, contortionist positions after you've begun to show. Or the ones on those fetish sites where they nurse off an omega for hours while masturbating... Which Stiles definitely has never visited before.

He covers his eyes as he groans and throws himself across his bed-- smacking his head on the wall roughly. Owwww.

He's such a fuck up.

* * *

 

Visiting Scott and Liam in their tiny, cheery bungalow just on the outskirts of town always feels like taking a time machine back to the 50's-- or maybe just stepping across a temporal rift into an alternate dimension. Stiles swears the thing is bathed in the golden sunlight of late afternoon at least eight hours a day, and there's always birds in the huge trees that line the edge of their backyard and mark the sides of the preserve. There's a tiny wrap-around porch, a rocking chair on that porch, and a grey kitten in that rocking chair that is serving as Liam's pseudo baby until he and Scott are both ready for the real thing.

Stiles would say that he finds it all absolutely ridiculous and completely saccharine, but something settles deep inside him whenever he pulls up, buries his hands in that sun-warmed fur, and lets the bitey baby drag its sandpaper tongue across his skin. Liam can be found, at any given time, walking around the ground floor, barefoot and bottomless, and humming to himself as he does some chore or another. Stiles had thought that when he got that job, he'd actually be, oh I don't know, in the store, behind the counter,  _ working there.  _ Instead he putters around his garden all day and tends to blooms, cuts stems, and makes arrangements that he sends in with Scott in the mornings. 

Stiles doesn't know how he managed to get a deal so cush, but it's probably because the owners are eighty years old-- and friends of his family from way, way back. The kid's had it made for forever, and Stiles hadn't even known! For godssake, his step dad made the down payment on this house as a graduation gift. Fucking doctors.

Stiles can't find it in himself to be truly upset when he saunters in through the open door-- the screen closed but the actual wooden one that locks and keeps out intruders who might take advantage of a half-naked omega left hanging open-- and sidles up behind Liam, at the stove. He slides his hands around the short boy's naked hips and curls his fingers into the neatly trimmed pubes framing his soft cocklet.

Liam hums and arches like a cat, nuzzling his face up into Stiles' throat as he stirs at some fruit medley he's cooking down-- making a jam by the smell of it. “You're just in time. Scott should be coming back for lunch any minute and you are  _ not  _ gonna distract him with sex and make him late going back again, you hear?” 

Stiles chuckles as he takes Liam's cock between his fingers and plays with the spongy head, other hand rubbing up and down his thick, jiggling thighs. “Says the man who never puts his dick away when he's walking around his house.” Stiles kisses Liam's cheek with a wet smack and then jellies his bubble butt with a shit-eating grin before going to sit at the round, wooden dinner table just a few feet away. With the way he was already teasing himself earlier, it's best not to push to hard and have Scott come home to the two of them madly sixty-nineing on the linoleum floor... again.

“I'm allowed to do what I want in _my_ home.” Liam admonishes with a chuckle-- always flushing the most endearing shade of red whenever he refers to the domesticity of his current situation. “Scott doesn't have a problem with it, and since he's the only one out here for miles-- plus, I haven't had to wash any of my liners in months! I just let it run down my legs and then Scott cleans me up when he gets home.” Liam smiles dopily as he stirs his jam at a pace that Stiles is absolutely sure is helping nothing along. 

He wrinkles his nose on principle, even though that sounds exactly like how he'd deal with his own slick situation, if given the chance. Unfortunately, the only alpha that might have wanted a piece of him, he probably just scared away forever, and he didn't even get to see his face! And Scott so doesn't count, because he's always more than happy to invite Stiles into their love-making, but he also very obviously finds going down on him just a fluffer's game before he gets to bury his crooked jaw in that soppy mess Liam calls a cunt.

“Do you think... do you think that people ever really change?” he finds himself asking, before he can stop and think about what implications might come with such a question. He blushes as soon as he says it, but it would be a bigger deal if Stiles tried to take it back now, so he just lets it float out there, into the warm space of the home. He tries to keep his face neutral, and even rests his chin in his hand, as if to signal that he's just asking an idle, bored question to fill the time before they get to eat.

Liam glances over at him with a funny, inscrutable look on his face, before taking his pot off the heat and going to the sink to finish washing some canning jars left unfinished. He hums softly, as though considering it, but Stiles knows that he's totally faking it. He just doesn't call him out on it, because he doesn't want that same scrutiny turned back on him. “I think, at the core, we'll always be securely ourselves, but I think our experiences can affect how strongly we react to things. Like...

Like, if I had told you I wanted to live like this a year and a half ago, you probably would have chained me in your basement and conditioned me to be a strong, independent omega just like you.” Liam smirks as he cocks a hip and stares over his shoulder at Stiles, raising a single brow. “But after I slowly started trying to drop hints and get you accustomed to the idea, you still found it beyond your own reach, but something you could imagine for me... Does that make sense?”

Stiles frowns softly in concentration as he scratches at his nose, and tries to figure how else that principle applies to him. For instance, how he never wanted anything to do with an alpha for so long, and now that the one he's been chatting with has shown him they're not all the absolute worst, he misses and craves that certain brand of attention. He still feels a fire in his stomach, driving him to want to prove to himself and everybody else that he's just as powerful as they are, but now he thinks he'd like to do that with someone equally strong and impassioned by his side.

But he doesn't know how to say that to someone, especially not to Liam, who he made feel uncomfortable for wanting what he wanted. He still struggles with a lot of guilt over that, even as his bondmate has verbally and physically forgiven him time after time. He just keeps bottling it all up inside, but now his stomach feels twisted and there's a sour taste in his mouth. He hates it.

Scott comes banging through the front door before Stiles can give it much more thought, or voice another question, and he's at once, relieved and thankful. The happy, smiley young man doesn't even notice him as he walks into the kitchen and immediately gloms onto Liam-- like they're magnets that just can't possibly stay away from each other. It's almost as cute as it is sappy. And kind of crazy hot as Scott sticks his tongue way,  _ way  _ down Liam's throat in greeting and grabs generous enough handfuls of the meat of his ass that he exposes the weepy, red opening tucked between. 

Stiles coughs awkwardly when Liam starts rubbing his little erection against Scott's clothed stomach, and they both rub the back of their necks when they turn to smile apologetically at him. Scott walks over with a sheepish gait as he drops the bags of fast food on the table and takes the seat across from Stiles, turning to pat his lap for Liam to sit, before opening them up and offering their contents for his first pick. “Sorry about that. He just drives me crazy dressed like that. No one should look that hot in a t shirt and apron.”

Stiles just shrugs and agrees begrudingly, because he would try and nail Liam right here on this table top if it would do more than just get them both wet and frustrated. It's not like he makes it a habit of bringing his strap-on everywhere he goes, and he hasn't gotten to use it since Liam passed his second Examination. He misses fitting his cock up in that vibrating, silicone knot, and then using the massive extension to make Liam writhe and moan prettily. He tried using it as a sort of fleshlight once since, but it just wasn't the same.

He munches, somewhat sullenly, on his deliciously soggy fries and keeps an eye on his phone screen all through lunch, trying to ignore how Liam wriggles his ass happily against Scott's denim-clad thigh while they feed each other fried pickles and share a milkshake. Assholes-- being all happy and in love and having found their soulmates while they were still in high school. And online no less! He almost lets himself wonder if  **Darcy** could have been the one for him, but then shakes off the foolishness before he can get very far. 

Whatever! He's in college, he's just starting the prime time of his bachelorhood. He doesn't want to be tied down when there's clumsy frat boys that are, no doubt, eager to please, over-achieving honors students that will recite fifty digits of pi in his asshole, and hot, older TA's that he can blow in the library stacks for extra credit. There's a whole world opening up to him in this moment and he'd be an idiot to turn it all down just for some guy that he's never actually met.

God, he loves being able to talk himself into just about anything. Stiles smiles as he wipes the sauce off from around his lips and stands as he pats his stomach, giving an exaggerated sigh of contentment. “Well, Scotty, Baby Crazy, thanks for lunch! Nothing beats dinner and a show-- even if the meal came early and the sex never got off the ground floor-- I was still very pleased with my service.”

Stiles reaches forward to shake their hands like a smartass and gives them a smarmy smirk. He dilutes the bite of it all by also planting kisses on their open, confused mouths, and running hands through their hair. “I'd love to stay and blow some minds, and some loads, but I'm afraid the greener pastures of college are calling my name! I have a campus tour early tomorrow morning, and I want to see if I can get the guide to eat me out if I bring him coffee.”

Stiles gives a mock salute as he practically runs backwards out of the house. God he's an ass. 

* * *

 

It's grey out and the chill of the wind makes goosebumps break out against the back of Stiles' neck as he scurries from his dorm to the square at the southernmost part of campus where the tour is due to start in the next few minutes. He'd woken up late despite his very own reservations about doing just that. Unable to keep the tight worry from knotting up his stomach, he'd spend the night staring at his phone, wondering if he should message **Darcy** again, if he was overreacting, if his internet crush had died in a fiery accident yesterday and he'd never, ever know.

It made him feel more than a little crazy and utterly stupid for letting an alpha get him this worked up, when he should be just enjoying himself in the prime of his life. Which is why he _does_ have that extra coffee sloshing around in his hands as he gallops down the stairs towards the gathered group at the bottom. There's only about twenty of them down there, and his body shivers with a wave of warmth.

Alphas are down there. Stiles may have passed his Examination and proved himself able of a level of control so that he wouldn't hurt anyone in the throes of lust, but that doesn't mean he still doesn't get flustered in the presence of alphas-- that his body doesn't ache and his face doesn't flush and his mouth dries as his ass wets.

He lowers his head as he approaches the group and makes himself smaller, hoping that there's a few omegas here as well and that they might have as little control of themselves as he does. It would be embarrassing as hell to be the only one leaking slick while everyone else was looking at him like he was fourteen years old again and had soaked right through the seat of his pants in the middle of the grocery store.

By the time he gets to the center of the group, the junior guiding the tour is already speaking to them and he's got a really unfortunate case of redheadedness. Not the super cute or sexy kind that makes you want to get all up in their firecrotch, but the kind that makes them look like a certain kind of mole person that you really don't want to get close to. Which would probably be terribly mean if he didn't already sound like a trust fund manchild doing this as a favor to the dean.

Stiles pouts as the group starts to move and he lets them part around him until he's at the back, looking forlornly at his extra coffee and barely listening to what's going on. The whole reason he even came to this thing was to check out some of the other guys and see if he couldn't get a fling going. He knows everything the guide is saying already-- knows it better, in fact and could probably give a much more engaging history than this bland, bare minimum-- he researched the hell out of the institution before even deciding that he was gonna apply.

Each place he had considered had to be able to afford him the reputation to be able to get attention and make changes, and he was certainly getting attention right now, but not the kind he was looking for. There were two boys with their bodies already turned towards him, eyes raking up and down, their hands in fists. If they'd passed their Examinations, they wouldn't take him right here and now, but it definitely wouldn't stop them from making passes or trying to maybe coerce him into something.

Why did he think college was a good idea again? Stiles is just about to turn away and flee back to his dorm to wallow in misery and hopefully get a few more hours of restless sleep, when a strong, firm body sidles up beside him, and those two alphas' eyes bug out before they sheepishly turn away. A hand comes up to cup his elbow and help him along as the tour continues moving and Stiles swallows thickly-- face heating in indignation as he prepares himself to turn around and give this assuming assface a peace of his mind-- when a surprisingly fond, soft, and playful voice filters into his ear, close enough he can feel the tickle of breath.

“I almost didn't recognize you without the buzzcut. I'd say you look like less of a brat, but the duckbutt bedhead look really isn't doing you any favors.” A thrill runs down Stiles' back at the familiar tone and he whips around fast enough to slosh coffee all down one hand. He hisses in pain and holds it away from him-- smug as fuck Derek Hale reaching out to take it from his hand with a barely there smile and having the audacity to take a sip. “It looked like this was meant for someone else, but clearly they didn't show.” Those cool, shining, mint green eyes tremble as they look him up and down before centering on his face. “Their loss is my gain, I suppose.”

Stiles feels a thousand and one things at once. First his whole body starts to melt and ooze, like that intense gaze shot laser beams that super-heated him from the inside out, and then when he realizes he's gushing into his pad, everything tenses up with barely withheld fury. This fucker tackled him to the ground, shoved his cock down his throat, and then just up and left! No number, no thank you.... not even a goodbye. Who the hell does that and who the hell does that and then comes up to you several months later and acts like you're friendly acquaintances?

Sure, Stiles more or less goaded him into the sex, but it wasn't like he didn't want it.... Right? Stiles didn't-- he didn't take advantage of him, did he? He just stands there with his mouth half open while Derek bites his bottom lip in an approximation of shyness with those ridiculously cute buck teeth and kicks his toes at the cement, shrugging. “Scott and Liam told me you were going here, but I hadn't seen you around at all. I thought maybe you were avoiding me.” If Derek were anyone but Derek, Stiles would assume that the look that flickered across his face was guilt, but--

“That's really more your kind of game, isn't it?” Stiles snaps before he can stop himself, and that is definitely, without a doubt, hurt registering across those striking features. He feels bad for a full three seconds before he decides that he doesn't have to. Because Derek _is_ best friends with Scott and he could've asked about Stiles at any point and time and he _didn't._ He's better than a come and run. He deserves more. He folds his arms across his chest and looks resolutely off to the side.

“That's... fair, I guess.” Derek's looking down at his feet, seeming like a dog that got left out in the rain and Stiles should not be falling for that act, but his shoulders are all hunched in and his fingers are playing nervously with the coffee collar and the kid just looks like he could use a fucking hug. “I wasn't really in a good place in high school, as far as emotional availability goes. My mother could write a book on moody teenagers at this point.”

Stiles tries his best to stay firm, but when Derek looks up at him through his lashes, a tiny bit of hope shining in his eyes, all he can do is crumble, even though that was a shit-ass apology. “Whatever, I probably shouldn't have provoked you anyway, and it was a blowjob in the woods. I wasn't expecting like flowers or anything.” He shrugs back and by now, the group has left them behind to totter around to less and less interesting sights to see. Stiles can't say he's sorry about that, even if this is incredibly awkward.

“I-uhm... that's-- you still deserved better than I gave you though.” Derek looks a little caught off-guard when Stiles makes the decision not to just jump down his throat, and that honestly cows him a little. Are people really afraid that he's gonna crucify them just for making human mistakes around him? He's not gonna deny that it sucked and hurt and made him upset, but still. Liam first and now Derek-- is he... militant? “Why don't I make it up to you-- I've got a place just off-campus, I'll make breakfast.”

Stiles wants to say yes absolutely immediately-- food and a space outside the unseasonal cold? That's how you win an omega over. Well, that and a fat knot that grinds up in all the right places, but breakfast would be a good start anyway. Only thing is, what if that's just what Derek's thinking? What if the guy is just hard up, saw an old gutterfuck, and thought he'd butter him up and then take him for another spin? Stiles aint no holler back girl, nuh-uh.

Derek sees him hesitate and rolls his eyes, standing up straight again and piercing him again with that intense gaze. “I'll make chocolate banana pancakes and bacon...”

“That's-- my favorite.” Stiles takes an involuntary step forward and feels himself grip his coffee cup much tighter than is probably safe. God, he hasn't had a home-cooked meal since he slept over at Liam's two weeks ago. The dorm kitchen is toxic and besides, he doesn't have the money to buy anything besides boxed meals.

“I know.” Derek doesn't care to elaborate on that as he turns his back and starts walking away-- presumably towards his place-- assuming Stiles will follow. Jackass.

* * *

 

Derek's apartment is in one of those newly renovated industrial buildings-- all super hip and green and chic and Stiles wishes he could hate him for it. But the elevator is old and iron and awesome, there's tons of exposed brick, and the old wood floors make him want to cream himself. He knew, objectively, that Derek's family must have had some money, given that they owned parts of the preserve and had that huge mansion of a house up there, but this is the first time he's actually getting to witness it. And he's not even as mad as he should be.

Because as Derek unlocks the door and stands aside to let him in, this is definitely the kind of way he'd spend money if he had it. This isn't like the Whittemore brand of extravagant wealth, with the most modern of tastes, an unnecessary infinity pool, and brand name labels on everything. This is antique furniture and rare breeds of plants and original brass fixtures. Stiles can't help the way he gasps at the homey, librarian feel of the room, and he immediately starts running his hands over everything.

There's small terrariums everywhere-- housing flowers to ivy to vegetables in little houses and domes and hanging globes. The light from the stained glass fixtures is warm and shines out their colors and Stiles outright grins as he raises his hands to let it filter through his fingers. The place is a little musty with dust from construction, but that makes it feel less like a museum and more like a home.

Derek walks around him, apparently oblivious to his awe, and hums very, very softly as he opens up the antique fridge and starts getting out butter, milk, and eggs. Stiles stops at the overlarge, wood table that serves as an island, and watches his back as he goes about getting down a copper pan from the rack it hangs on, centered over the gas range. He picks at the imperfections and carvings in the wood with his nails and tries to quell the overwhelming warmth that's glowing in his chest. _This_ is an apartment, not the cinderblock prison cell he's staying in.

As Derek starts slicing the bananas and whipping up the batter, he takes a seat and finds himself wondering if there's a clawfoot bathtub that could fit two grown men, if there's a terrace that could fit a mattress and a half dozen pillows, if that dark leather couch is as comfortable to nap on as it looks. Cinnamon, browned butter, and cocoa powder hit his nose at the same time as the sizzle of the pan reaches his ears, and he closes his eyes as something deep, deep inside him feels like it settles.

It's almost as terrifying as it is calming and Stiles brings his legs up to hug his knees to his chest. “Orange juice or milk?” Stiles' eyes flutter open and he hasn't realized that he dozed a little until he sees Derek smiling patiently at him, sitting at the table, full plates in front of them and a carafe of orange juice to one side with a pitcher of milk on the other.

“Uhm... I-uhm... juice.” Derek fills both glasses on the table before tucking his napkin into the collar of his shirt and picking up his utensils, looking down at the food with an obvious ravenousness. Stiles watches too-- the smells making his belly gurgle audibly and his face heating at that-- but the boy doesn't make a move more. It takes him a second, but Stiles realizes that he's _waiting for him_ to eat first and who even is this guy? Not Derek Hale, no way. This is his not-so-evil twin or college pod-person or something!

Still, the food looks delicious and Stiles' stomach isn't shutting up and what kind of person would _he_ be if he refused this delicious meal made just special for him? With only one more questioning glance, he picks up his own fork and knife and then tucks in—groaning lewdly and with a mouthful of food at the first bite. Derek stares at him with wide eyes as he crams an entire strip of bacon in alongside the pancake and syrup and then moans again and licks his lips.

“I'm glad you like it,” he murmurs as the tips of his ears pink. After a moment of staring, the alpha turns resolutely to his plate and starts digging in as well, attacking the food like only a young man such as he could, and Stiles is made aware of why the napkin is there. They both start eating like savages, hands scrambling over each others' to grab the extras from the serving plates, lips smacking, and posture terrible as they hunch over their plates territoriality.

Stiles snorts and almost spits up pancake when Derek wipes a huge gob of syrup from his chin and then gets his fingers caught in his hair when he scratches his head, but then stands up to help him and realizes he has a tapestry of food down the front of his white t-shirt. Damn.

Derek's eyes wrinkle and his lips smile around his food as he chews a little slower now and his shoulders shake with a silent chuckle. Stiles blushes as he shakes his head and brushes what he can off onto the table before going to stand behind the other boy with a napkin dipped in water to get his fingers loose. It's the first moment Stiles has had to actually sit back and consider Derek himself since... well, since they met.

His hair's a little less shaggy than when they first met-- definitely more styled-- he's got notable stubble across his jaw and starting in on his chin, his hands are broad and strong as his shoulders, and his coloring isn't quite as dark as Scott's but definitely a shade of something more foreign than suburban California. His body hair is thick and dark traveling up his arms and Stiles has a flashback to that thick treasure trail leading into a thatch of well-kept, but still long pubes. Swollen, heavy, hairy balls in his hands, a toned, furry ass flexing as he thrusted, corded thighs with soft whorls of it framing his head.

It didn't seem... brutish anymore. Not like it had when Stiles sat in his room, staring forlornly at his phone and telling himself that Derek was just an animal. It felt more like a man's body with a kid inside of it that wasn't quite sure what to do with it all. While trying to make him feel better, Scott had told him that Derek used to wax almost all of it because he got called sasquatch in the locker rooms. Stiles is glad that seems to have changed.

He wonders what all of that would feel like against his own, tender skin. He's got hairy arms and pits and a treasure trail of his own, but his 'beard' is patchy, his chest hair is thin, his balls are peachy, and the only real _thatch_ of hair he has is that nest in his crack and around his cunt that he refuses to shave because razors just don't _go some places._

He wonders if Derek remembers any of that about him. He wonders if the alpha remembers that his nipples are puffy, that he's got moles everywhere, that his navel in an innie, and he's got a mild case of scoliosis that curves his back crooked. He wonders if Derek thinks fondly of that night, or if he tries his best to forget that it ever happened.

Stiles wonders what the hell this breakfast is supposed to mean... and what he wants it to.

After he gets Derek's fingers untangled, a quiet settles over them and they sit apart to finish their meals with at least some semblance of civility. Stiles picks up their plates when they are done and insists on doing the dishes since Derek cooked. He brooks no arguments. Derek has a farmhouse sink and purple rubber gloves and dishrags with a little acorn print all over them.

The alpha awkwardly wanders around his apartment, aimlessly at first, and then picking up the little bit of clutter that was left around while Stiles cleans. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Derek digs wool socks from under the couch-- more than one pair too-- gathers up receipts and mail left on tables and straightens the remotes and knick knacks lying around. For a while, he disappears into a room down the hall, and Stiles politely pretends that he doesn't hear the blustering farts let loose before Derek calmly reappears.

At least he had the decency to go to the bathroom to do it. Liam's been picking up mannerisms from Scott and now thinks it's funny to purposefully wander over towards him to pass gas and then giggle when Stiles complains. It's lovely.

The whole morning is undeniably odd, but not in a necessarily bad way. It just feels a little like when he goes over to Scott and Liam's house-- like he stepped out of time and space somehow. All of this doesn't really feel... real. This isn't Stiles' life. This isn't the Derek Hale that he knows. This isn't how things work out. Hot, fit, infuriating, crushable guys don't use you as their fucktoy and then just decide, months later, to be your friend-- or whatever this is.

Because the way Derek always seems to touch him when he breezes by feel a whole hell of a lot like flirting, but the complete and utter lack of follow up just feels like maybe he was raised in a tactile family. Stiles doesn't know, doesn't get any of it, and by the time he's excusing himself and going over and over the past few hours to himself in the elevator on the way down, he just feels more confused than ever.

* * *

 

It's three days later, five accidental run-ins with Derek on campus, and about ten microwave burritos, and Stiles is feeling like he might be stuck in one of the base levels of hell or something. Everywhere he goes, the bastard is there. He's in the frozen section at the grocery store-- buying pre-made crusts because he's making mince pies. They were Stiles' mom's favorite and therefore his own. He's in the student union, taking up the last lane because he just happens to love bowling-- Stiles' favorite. He's fucking on the rooftop of one of the science buildings. He knows all the names of all the constellations. Stiles has always wanted to learn.

It's like he's the donkey pulling a heavy ass cart and every time he convinces himself to stop, there's a Derek shaped carrot dangled in front of his face and he starts right back up again. It's driving him insane and on top of it all, **Darcy** is a complete and utter no-show. For the first time in his life, Stiles feels boy crazy, of all things, and that just serves to make him angry and frustrated.

All he wants to do is start getting himself acquainted with his professors and the department heads and maybe seeing about getting himself some scholarships before they're put on the student database, but instead he's holed up in his dorm, making a Skype call to Isaac and Jackson, because they're the only ones he knows that have made it out of the mire of relationship miscommuncation alive.

The assholes straight up and left on a backpacking trip through Europe as soon as Heat Week was over and Stiles went through a month thinking his cunt was all full up of bad hoodoo that chased people away. Liam was moving, Isaac and Jackson were gone, and Derek left probably before the cum was even cool on his dick. That passed as soon as everyone gathered to talk him down from his crazy, but still. Not a fun experience to have had to kick off his college experience.

It takes a while to connect, but eventually a laggy, pixelated picture comes in and Stiles is greeted with the image of Jackson and Isaac lounging on a bed together in some hostel some place or other. Jackson is disinterestedly flipping through a magazine in the background, resting his crossed ankles on the small of Isaac's back, while the other beta is lying on his stomach-- face too close to the screen. How in the fuck do _they_ look just as domestic as Scott and Liam do?

“What's up, buttercup?” Isaac chirps, smiling wide when Jackson rolls his eyes and sighs like it's a chore even being there. Stiles doesn't know how Isaac finds all of that endearing, but he's glad he does. Jackson has actually become quite likable here lately and that's something Stiles could never have anticipated. The two of them IM just about every other day and have made a game of taking pictures of themselves with their balls out in increasinly public places-- daring the other to one up. Jackson's last one was in front of one of those royal guardsmen and Stiles has no idea how to top that. Bastard.

“I'm gonna go ahead and tell you, but if either one of you even _think_ about making fun of me, I will find a way to hitch all the way over there and tear your dicks off to mount as trophies on my wall, okay?” Isaac and Jackson share an incredibly amused look-- probably communicating something along the lines of, 'we actually slept with that,' to each other-- before turning back to the camera and nodding. “I-- it's... boy trouble, or whatever.”

Their eyebrows go up in eerie synchronicity, but they hold fast and don't make any noises of judgment. So Stiles can officially keep them as friends and occasional fuckbuddies. Whew. “What... exactly do you mean by that?” Isaac hedges, giving him a squinty eye through the camera as Jackson finally puts away his magazine and moves so he's resting his chin on his boyfriend's shoulder.

“Like... what does it mean when a guy cooks you breakfast, but that's the only thing that happens and then he starts kind of stalking you, but only so he can say and do nice things?” Stiles' hands clench and unclench into fists and he chews the inside of his cheeks nervously while they both sit in dumbfounded silence for a moment.

“I don't know why either of us thought Stilinski would be _normal_ for once.” Jackson finally mutters, shaking his head. Rude. “Look, he obviously wants your attention, so give it to him. Either he owns up and fucks you or he gets scared and runs away. If it's the latter, then you definitely don't want him. Tell him to take a hike and then call us. You can talk dirty to me and watch as I ride Isaac-- that always makes you feel better.”

He says it all like he's telling Stiles how to fix a clogged sink and doesn't even bat an eyelash when he offers to have cyber-pity-sex. Neither of them do. At least Scott has the decency to be flustered when he walks into a room and finds Stiles eating Liam out so well there's slick running down into his chest hair. “But... what if I want more than sex from him?”

Stiles closes his eyes when he says it, so he doesn't have to deal with their undoubtedly condescending expressions and prays for death for a few, mortifying seconds. If he wanted support and fairy tale optimism, he would have hoofed it out to the city limits to see Scott and Liam. Isaac and Jackson get results and they're real with him, even if they're sometimes mean about it. “Then you have to be the one to take that initiative. Invite him out with you, but not anywhere with stalls big enough to fuck in. Let's be honest Stiles, you're kind of a slut and without Liam around to quench that insatiable thirst of yours, you'll throw yourself at anything with a pulse.”

Stiles opens his eyes with a squawk, ready to protest, but when he's met with dual sets of raised brows and bored expressions, he blushes bright red and has to concede the point. Isaac could have said it in a little bit of a nicer way. “Stilinski!” Stiles hunches his shoulders at the authoritative tone and lasers in his attention, looking at Jackson's serious face. “Make sure _he_ knows it's a date. Make it as painfully obvious as you can without blowing him beneath a table, alright?”

God, is he really that big a whore? Sure he liked to come at least three times a day back when he had Liam around, but that was different. Right? “Ya, ya, I got it. Keep my pants zipped. I'll wear a liner-- no one ever feels sexy in those, and besides, I'd die if he tried to feel me up and got a handful of my diaper butt.”

He's had to wear one almost non-stop since he's been chatting with **Darcy** and he hasn't been getting his... needs met. He leaks constantly and there's just no better way to go about your day than slipping one in the back of your briefs and not thinking about it. You start to smell pretty sex-ripe at the end of the day, but that's better than having to change twice a day just to keep from soaking your pants.

“Whatever it takes, make sure you do it. And call us as soon as you get back, ya?” Isaac actually looks excited about the prospect of being Stiles' own personal love guru and it's something along the lines of sweet. Stiles nods, even though the thought of doing any of this makes his stomach tie up in knots.

Whatever, having it done will be better than having to worry about it for months and months. No matter the possible outcomes, tomorrow, when he runs into Derek Hale buying chocolate croissants or what the fuck ever, he's going to ask him out on a date.

* * *

 

Stiles is just coming back from the showers and slipping into the tightest, thinnest shirt he owns, when the familiar ping of an A4O message comes through on his phone. His back is turned to his bed and where his phone lies, and he turns slowly, like someone who knows the killer is behind them in a horror movie, to look at where it's sitting, face up. From here, he can make out **Darcy** 's username at the start, but none of the actual text, and his heart leaps up into his throat.

He wants to ignore the message and make **Darcy** feel the same hurt he did. He wants to dive at it right now and type out a million apologies and promise never to flirt too far with him again. He wants to carefully write out something full of barely withheld rage and then block the douchebag and total tease. What he does, is flop down onto the mattress without a single ounce of grace, and just stare at the lockscreen for a solid five minutes, trying to work up the cojones to see what the alpha has said.

He licks his lips, long gone dry, and breathes heavily, before his fingers fumble and he keys in his password. The app opens up immediately and thanks to the campus' wifi, loads instantly. There, in the corner, is that ridiculously generic profile pic that may as well be a grey head and shoulders, and then a small, concise paragraph.

**DarcyWasAFool** : I'm sorry I disappeared on you, I should have been up front with what was going on. I've been thinking about it for a long time and even though I'm frightened of what you'll say, I have to ask: Can we meet? 

Stiles doesn't really know what to say to that. Doesn't know how to process that the alpha was just in turmoil over wanting... more. And just as he decided that he was going to leave  **Darcy** behind and try at something real with Derek. But-- but he doesn't know for sure that that's what Derek wants from  _ him.  _ All he knows is that he wants more than just being wanted. He's had that ever since he started presenting as an omega-- boys looking at him like a dripping steak. 

**MyRaspberryYourCream** : When and Where. 

Derek will have to wait. Whatever he is, whatever he's doing, whatever they might be to each other-- it'll have to wait.

* * *

 

He'd gotten directions to a building just off-campus. Funnily enough, it turns out to be the same one Derek lives in. Stiles stands for a while outside, fretting over how awkward it would be if they ran into each other in the elevator, if he was asked where he was going and had to explain... Then, being his usual self, he takes it even further. He imagines what life would be like if he moved in with  **Darcy** . 

What if he lives next door to Derek? What if Derek could hear them fuck every night? How weird would it be to stand in the elevator with the both of them-- Derek knowing that  **Darcy** was having his sloppy seconds. Would he be hurt? Would he tell  **Darcy** that to try and get back at him? Would they stop being these sort-of friends? 

It makes him dry heave for a minute or two in the alley on the side of the building, and then he feels like an even bigger idiot than he has for the last little while. Which is really saying something. He runs his hands through his hair, checks his phone to make sure he has the right building and apartment number twice, and then takes a deep breath and steels himself.

Whatever, Derek had his chance. He could have woken Stiles up to say goodbye. He could have left his number programmed in Stiles' phone. He could've asked Scott to ask Liam about him. He could have kissed him that morning he made breakfast or asked him out any of the other times that they just so happened to fall together. But he didn't. So, either he didn't want Stiles, not really, or he didn't want to want him. Either way, it was better he move on.

So Stiles gets in the elevator and rides up to the fourth floor, walks to the fifth door, and knocks, wondering why the thistle-y doormat looks so familiar. He looks up when the door opens, ready and  _ excited  _ to be seeing the boy he might have fallen in love with online for the first time. Derek Hale is standing in the doorway. 

Derek Hale is standing in the doorway.

_Derek Hale is standing in the doorway._

Stiles looks at his nervous face and then down at his phone that he wrestled out of his pocket. Face. Phone. Face. Phone. Face... Door... Phone. Right building. Right floor. Right apartment number... Derek, not  **Darcy.**

He feels like his world is crumbling around him and if he doesn't hold on to something, he might fall right off the earth. He grabs hold of the doorway with a white knuckled grasp and starts breathing heavily, thinly. He feels his eyes go wide and Derek's voice try to make its way to his ears, high and worried. “What-- what is this? Is this all some kind of fucking joke? What are you doing to me?”

His vision blurs with tears and Stiles tries not to let his chest feel like it's being stomped on by a million elephants. Derek's hands are on his shoulders and his face comes swimming into view. Stiles can't really focus on it, though he tries to-- tries to muster all his hurt and anger so that, at the very least, he doesn't find himself falling apart at the hands of an alpha like some waif.

“No! No, no, no, no. That's not-- I wouldn't-- Stiles!” Derek looks absolutely panicked as he herds him into the apartment and makes him sit on the couch, running to the sink to fetch him a glass of water. The room smells like vanilla beans and coffee grounds and old books. The mixture is oddly comforting and Stiles finds himself less crumbling into pieces and more worn at the seams. How could he have ever thought that--.

He pushes his fists into his stinging eyes and ignores the cold glass Derek tries to press into his hands, turning away. “Stiles, Stiles please. This isn't how it was supposed to go, I didn't mean--.”

“What then?! What was I supposed to do with this?” Stiles whips around to look at him and is pleased, for just a moment, when Derek is visibly cowed. The alpha frets and recoils and makes himself small as he backs away, eyes wide.

“I'm stupid, I'm so _fucking_ stupid. Scott made me get that dumb profile and I found you online after graduation and... I missed you. But I knew that you would hate me for what I did, so I didn't tell you it was me. I thought-- I thought that if we just met on even ground, without bringing any of our baggage to it, then we could make it.

You would see that we'd be good together and then when you saw it was me, it wouldn't matter. You wouldn't care about any of the other stuff because the real me is the one you've been talking to these past months-- not the guy that was too big of a pussy to admit to himself that you were the most amazing thing that ever happened to him. How _fucking stupid.”_

Derek puts his shaking head in his hands as he sits heavily down in the chair across from Stiles and doesn't raise it up, muttering to himself under his breath, a litany of curses. Stiles sits and stares, going over and over what he just said in his mind, again and again. Derek was stupid. Really, horribly stupid. But... was what he did that bad? Or really even that crazy? Stiles did carry that shit with him-- he thought about it way, way too much. Everyone was scared of him at some point, why wouldn't Derek be? Especially after what happened between them.

So maybe the individual instances can all be explained away-- have reasons why they were and weren't okay and why they should be forgiven-- but what does it all mean together. What is Stiles supposed to think about this. How are they supposed to move forward? Derek starts pulling harshly at his own hair and rocking back and forth and that's about all that Stiles can take.

With shaking hands and a loud sniffle heralding his approach, Stiles gets to his knees and scoots forward just enough to lay his hands over Derek's. They jump at his touch and curl tighter around the locks of hair in their grasp, but Stiles just calmly, and quietly starts to disentangle them, like the other day. Once he has them free, he brings them to his face and places them on his cheeks. They're hot and a little clammy, but he just turns to kiss the palms and runs his own fingers along Derek's forearms.

The alpha looks up at him in surprise-- eyes wet and nose running-- and Stiles gives him his best wobbly smile. “I think... maybe.... we're both pretty stupid and we should let our brains get out of their own way for a little while.” Derek hesitates for a long second before leaning forward, slow and hesitant, searching Stiles' eyes for something the whole while.

Whatever it is he's looking for, he must find, because he just keeps coming closer and closer until Stiles is swallowing his exhales and their noses are starting to bump. Derek angles his head and his hands grip tighter and his breath stutters before he presses their lips together. They're both a little dry and chapped and the little snags of skin catch on each other, but Derek is warm and soft and questioning and Stiles can't help but respond.

His tongue darts out to touch the seam of Derek's lips and the other boy inhales suddenly at the touch. Stiles is gentle as he coaxes Derek's mouth open, and then just slides their tongues against each other, not trying to map the roof of his mouth or battle him for control. Derek's eyes flutter closed and he sighs into the kiss, body melting into the offered comfort and leaning onto Stiles.

It takes a second to get him to move too, but once he does, he doesn't stop. He nips at Stiles' lips and tongue, rubs their noses, moves his big hands to the side of his neck, his shoulders, his ribs. They break for a moment, but it's just so Derek can take his hand and stand up, giving him a shy look before leading him down the hall and into his room.

The bedsheets are dark and soft, his furniture equally so, and the smell in here is muskier. Part sweat, part spunk, and a thousand of other little things that makes Stiles shiver. He feels himself wet and can see Derek's eyes dilate when he scents it. The alpha guides him to the side of the bed and then fingers the hem of his shirt with a question in his eyes. Stiles swallows thickly before he nods, and then Derek is stripping it off of him, tossing it aside, and running his hands up and down Stiles' bare chest and stomach.

Stiles doesn't have any of his babyfat left like Liam and Scott, but he hasn't built any muscle like Derek, so his pecs and stomach are soft, if flat, and his skin is milk pale and spotted. His face flushes in embarrassment, but Derek just hums warmly as he touches him, eyes clouded with want. The alpha tilts Stiles' chin back before leaning forward and fitting his mouth right over the bob of his Adam's apple, biting down carefully with sharp teeth.

Stiles tenses up with every single sinew before he completely relaxes and lolls in the grasp. Derek growls in pleasure at the submission and when he steps close enough that their knees knock, Stiles can feel the hardness of his cock trying to escape his tight jeans. His body quakes at that and he feels himself gush, his eyes rolling back in his head as he comes.

Derek's growling intensifies and he bites down harder as he scents the air for the orgasm, nostrils flaring and chest heaving. Derek lets go of him to lay him on the bed and unbutton his jeans-- taking his time to smooth his hands over the flare of his hip bones, nuzzling at the little bulge of his crotch where he's still hard, rooting his nose between his legs to try and find the damp.

Stiles fists the sheets below him as he opens up wide to let him dig and tries to keep himself from pushing too hard into the touch. Derek slides the denim down his legs and off his feet before coming right back up, pressing his nose against the much thinner layer of his briefs, and it met with a loud _paff._ The pad. “Oh my god.” Stiles claps his legs shut tight and buries his face in his hands, his stomach turning as he realizes he wore it just for the reason. “I'm wearing a lube liner.”

Derek's hands stay at his thighs, but his head comes up and Stiles doesn't feel him move for a long time. He feels absolutely mortified and can't believe that he went and ruined this for them when it was finally starting to go in a good direction. Derek's hands leave and he swallows heavily, preparing himself to have to hobble out of here in soaked clothes, ashamed and sad.

He props himself up on his elbows and looks down to where Derek is kneeling at the sight of the bed to see the alpha blissed out, wringing his huge cock with both hands as he stares at the obvious padding in Stiles' shorts. That gorgeous, loose foreskin slides to hang an in or two off the tip of his cock before Derek pulls it back to expose the swollen head of his dick, over and over again as his balls swing wildly to smack his knuckles.

Stiles groans and shoots forward to kiss him, getting back to full hardness in an instant as Derek kisses right back, ravenous and insistent. He pushes Stiles back down and rips open his briefs, pulling down the shreds until he can uncover the layered, washable pad that soaks up every ounce of slick Stiles secretes throughout the day. When he presses to hard on it, it drips down his hands and makes them shine-- opalescent with the cum Stiles blew into it just a few minutes ago.

Derek looks at the pad and then at him before bringing to his face and breathing it in with an open mouth, great, deep whuffs of air. Stiles watches as clear, thick liquid beads at the tip of his dick in response, collecting and then running down his shaft faster and faster as he licks down the center of it and then starts to suck at the material. Stiles' dick flexes and sticks to his skin at the sight and he feels himself starting to leak again.

“Not that this isn't hot or anything, but if you don't get that inside me right this second, I'm liable to tackle you and ride your face until you drown in me.” Derek's eyes fly open and he drops the pad with almost comedic quickness before he's scurrying up the bed and dragging Stiles with him.

“How do you want this. Tell me how to make you comfortable.” Stiles snorts, but smiles all the same, and turns over to lie on his stomach, grabbing a pillow to place beneath it and prop up his hips.

“Don't worry, I'm slick and loose enough, you won't hurt me. Just give me time to adjust and don't be afraid to go slow. You don't need to jackhammer my ass just to make me feel good.” Derek places on hand on the center of his stomach, holding him tight to his own torso as he lines up behind him, and Stiles can feel his dick rubbing against his lower back. His other hand comes up to feel along the bitemark he left on Stiles' throat and it makes the both of them shake.

Derek starts to slowly roll his hips, working the length of himself down into the crack of Stiles' ass and then lower and lower, adding his own slick to the mess Stiles is already pumping out. “Look at you. God! Look at you. I want to lick that furry hole until you've got nothing left, until your cunt comes up dry and the only thing keeping you wet is my tongue.”

Stiles nearly swallows his at that statement and whimpers as he squirts out another stream of cum, soaking Derek's thighs and dick in the fluid. The alpha above him cries out as his knot suddenly and fully pops and his hips stutter as he slides into Stiles' fluttering hole. The sensation makes Stiles' orgasm crest and he starts to ride the familiar waves as he doesn't come down, but just keeps gushing again and again-- body tightening up before releasing his fluids and glowing warm.

Derek's arms and legs are shaking with the effort it takes to hold himself up and Sties can feel him desperately trying to nudge his knot in past the ring of muscle keeping him from being seated completely inside Stiles. He whimpers and wriggles as he tries not to be harsh, but fights to get it in, _needing_ that connection.

Stiles reaches a hand behind himself and grips at Derek's flexing ass, gripping the firm meat and ushering him to press harder, to test the stretch and knot him. The other boy shakes his head and stubbornly keeps trying to push it centimeter by centimeter, not realizing that he's not making any progress. Stiles groans as those heavy balls slap against the bottom of his ass and taint and he feels his whole body _ache_ with the want for them to empty inside of him. He wants it _all_ and he wants it for himself.

His inner walls start to swell and tighten and he panics, thinking that Derek won't knot him before he seals up. He digs his nails harshly into Derek's flesh before pulling back to smack his ass, _hard._ Derek grunts in surprise and jerks involuntarily forward, forcing his knot up inside Stiles and going tight as a drum as he stars to come-- shooting great gouts of the hot, thick liquid deep inside him.

Stiles whines as the semen barrels into his prostate again and again and again and he feels his own cock try to mirror the reaction as best it can, dribbling out the thin, watery cum of an omega. His cunt clamps tight around his mate as Derek collapses down on top of him and their sweat sticks their skin together. Stiles can feel Derek's breath tickling at his ear, his pubes at his ass, his toes against his feet, and he loves all of it.

They'll be tied together like this probably for an hour or more and he has no doubt they'll start to reek, but he couldn't think of a better place to be. They'll have some down time to talk out all the details, but he has a good feeling about where this is going. Just as long as Isaac and Jackson never find out he got fucked before he DTR'd.

* * *

 

There's some serious advantages to having an alpha in your life that Stiles wouldn't give up for the world-- not even if he got the chance to skip all the hard work and just sail into the public eye. Because no matter how many people could be interested in what he has to say about the political injustice of punishing and separating omegas simply because of their natural body functions, none of them would be making him food at three in the morning-- naked and hot as the sun and not even minding the little grease burns that come from frying bacon.

Because Derek Hale is doing just that. His cock is still covered in cum and his ass is bare and has Stiles' handprint on it and he's already half hard again, but he's ignoring all that because Stiles whined that he was hungry and that he wanted breakfast food _right now._ Derek had immediately gotten up and headed into the kitchen and was smiling like a loon as he fed Stiles a triangle of toast with raspberry jam on it. Stiles just hums in approval and licks his mate's fingers while he swings his legs from where he's sitting on the counter top.

He's licking cum and slick out onto the smooth wood and Derek doesn't even care. This is most definitely the life and he sees why Liam never puts on clothes anymore. He thinks he'd cry if Derek tried to cover up at this point, and for a moment he feels guilty about always crashing in on him and Scott. But just for a moment.

Derek is cooking up some french toast that smells absolutely _heavenly_ and the radio on the window sill is on to the college radio station, playing some sad, acoustic indie even at this hour. Some poor soul that thinks he's getting his big break is playing songs that are only gonna be heard by drunks, sad insomniacs, and people getting some, like Stiles is. Still, it's a pretty good soundtrack to their successful reunion.

For all that he's said and all that he's done and all that he still believes, Stiles wouldn't rather be anywhere else in the world right now. There's just nothing quite like this nervous giddiness, like being able to run his feet up and down the generous swell of Derek's ass and watch the boy shiver as his huge, heavy cock twitched and his stomach tightened. There's nothing like being able to hop down off the counter and come up behind him, wrap arms around his back and bury fingers in the thicket of his pubes. There's nothing like kissing someone's ear and cheek and _feeling_ them glow at the attention.

It's kind of everything.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't get to edit this as thoroughly as I wanted to, so I might come in here and change it up, but only in regards to conventions mistakes! Anyway I do so hope you enjoyed and will let me know what you thought down in the comments. If you made it this far, thanks so, so much for reading!


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